


The Cook and the Warehouseman

by Helen Raven (helenraven)



Series: The Hailin Stories [1]
Category: The Professionals
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Remix, Remixed, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 15:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 166,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10700127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenraven/pseuds/Helen%20Raven
Summary: An A/U science-fiction domestic drama. The year is 1983 and an alien fleet appears in orbit around Earth, wanting to establish a trading base and headed by the royal family, who all wear masks. Bodie is with CI5 and is part of the British security team for the negotiations on board the flagship, when he receives an offer of marriage from one of the alien princes, who he had talked to for maybe five minutes and whose face he had not seen.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This novel was originally published in the form of a zine in 1997. It has been available for some years at the Helen Raven website - <http://www.kelper.co.uk/helenraven/> \- but I thought it was time that I posted it here as well. A few years ago a friend pointed out to me that the version on the website was missing several pages from the end of Chapter 7, and I have now got around to correcting this, both on the website and in the version here. Many thanks to kiwisue for spotting that error.
> 
> You can get the entire novel in a single file from the Helen Raven website. It is available as an ePub file, a mobi file, a PDF file with 2 columns (as in the original zine), and a PDF file with a single column.

# The Cook and the Warehouseman

By Helen Raven

## Introduction

adapted slightly from the introduction in the original 1997 zine

_Explanations and Apologies_

Some of you may notice a distinct resemblance between the starting point of this novel and the starting point of Wally’s _Hostage to Peace_. Now, don’t jump to conclusions, there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for this, namely: I am a chronic and shameless plagiarist. I read _Hostage to Peace_ some three years before _The Cook and the Warehouseman_ was published in zine form, and I thought, “Wow!” and then, “But what if…?” and that was my free time booked for a year and a half. I didn’t have the courtesy to get in touch with Wally and warn her of what I was working on—largely because I had no intention of stopping this work—so I’d like to take this opportunity to offer Wally my thanks for a great read, and my hopes that the existence of my novel didn’t spoil her enjoyment of her own.

_The Convention for Words in the Alien Language_

This is a science fiction novel, and it includes some words in an alien language. I have adopted the convention that these words appear in italics, except where the word is a person’s name or a place name.

_See the Next Page for a Limited Glossary_

A limited glossary for the alien language is included on the inside back cover. This gives the days of the week and a family tree, and other information intended to save you having to make notes, without (I hope) running any risk of spoiling the plot for you.

## Copyright

as it appeared in the original zine

Produced by Helen Raven

Published and distributed by Pear Tree Press

Copyright © October 1997

 _The Cook and the Warehouseman_ is an amateur fan publication and is not intended to infringe the rights of Brian Clemens, London Weekend Television, or any other holders of _The Professionals_ copyright. The original material within this publication is copyrighted to the author and the artist.

 

 

## Glossary

 

_Days of the Week_

 

  _The Bakkel Family Tree_

__

_The Main Members of the Mabein_

_Inoni Sarai_

    battered gold disc, worn by Malun

_Attenasi_

blue-speckled china, worn by a senior officer

_Udom Kol_

    wet appearance, worn by Ray

_Embrun_

    partner to Udom Kol

_Hutton Iba_

    black with fissures, worn by Turon

 

| 

_Kamaran_

    represents flood, worn by Ferros

_Laura Var_

    represents harvest, worn by West

_Oba Nyon_

    wooden, carved with foliage

_Halabron_

    rock, worn by Sasha

_Gagras_

    worn by Lamon

   
  
---|---  
  
 


	2. Chapter 1

## Chapter 1

The first ships of the alien fleet came into orbit around Earth on Wednesday, September the 7th, 1983, just after 6pm, GMT. The aliens looked so much like humans, and their English was so good (along with their French and German and Arabic), that many people assumed at first that it was a hoax. Some portion of Bodie’s brain continued to think that, even after he had been up to the flagship as part of the UK security presence. They were all so matter-of-fact, so practical. If they really were professional traders, you’d think they’d know from experience what their arrival would do to a… Well, “home-system” culture seemed to be their term. You’d think they’d make some allowance, show some sense of occasion. Their only concession was to bring their royal family along, and that screamed hoax more than anything else, since all six wore masks. At what point were they going to snatch them off, yelling, “Surprise!”? Was it even the same people behind the masks each time? If this was all the work of some millionaires’ Amateur Dramatic Society, surely they’d all want a chance at the best parts.

When the main negotiations started—the negotiations to choose the country that would host their trading base—Bodie was included in the UK security team again, with instructions to watch the royals and assess whether or not they were switching negotiators. By the end of the Saturday, Bodie reported that he was 90% certain that the two who were doing all of the talking were not being switched. The king, behind the battered gold disc of Inoni Sarai (to all intents and purposes, their sun god), had small, tanned hands, and a habit of pressing them flat on the table and then circling or tapping with his thumb. The princess heir, behind the blue-speckled china of Atenassi (something to do with unwelcome truths), had a slow, deep voice that contrasted with her brisk, decisive movements.

For the other four, he would only put it at 75%, though it probably didn’t matter. Of course, the UK team could have it all wrong, and maybe the show was actually being run by the quietest one, Udom Kol (no translation had been given), with the mask that looked dripping wet. Maybe those rare notes that he passed along the line were deciding Bodie’s standard of living for the next fifty years.

Nah. And again, did it really matter, and what could the team do about it if it did? Be polite and attentive to all of them. Assume they’re all important, even if it looks as if they’re nothing but surplus royals.

Mind you, fixing the identities of the negotiators was the least of the team’s concerns, which was why the task had been assigned to the CI5 muscle. The suits from the Foreign Office were overheating their pedigree brains trying to work out what the aliens—the “Hailin”, as **_The Times_** was now spelling it—were making of _them_. And of the Americans and the French and so on. The suits did not want to hear Bodie’s opinion: that the aliens couldn’t tell any of the humans apart. Oh no, they knew better than Bodie what to make of the fact that the king, the princess, and the soaking-wet prince had all taken time to speak to Bodie during the evenings’ receptions.

“They’re trying to judge the national character. Isn’t it obvious?”

Bodie snorted. “They can’t tell me from the Prime Minister.” She had already left the debriefing, or Bodie would probably not have made that particular comparison. “She changes suits, you put on a fresh tie, they think we’ve switched teams on them. I can hear them now, saying, ‘You’re right, that black suit and tie’s been here every day. I think he gives the signals when he scratches his nose. Second Prince, you check him out this evening. See if they’ve made up their mind about a bribe.’”

They ignored him. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, resisting (for the sake of CI5’s reputation) the urge to make a show of falling asleep. They knew he was right. They should have stuck to the same clothes until they were sure it wouldn’t confuse the Hailin. And they certainly shouldn’t be juggling the team as much as they had been.

* * * * *

After that debriefing, Bodie half expected to lose his place on the team. Maybe he would have, but the soaking-wet prince was missing from the negotiations the next day, and the team probably assumed that Bodie felt thoroughly put in his place. The prince didn’t appear again with the negotiators, but a few days later he was sighted during the lunch-break, and by the evening of the 18th Bodie had had three more conversations with him (albeit very brief), and a longer one with the king. That evening the food was being provided by the Egyptians and Bodie was relieved to find that there was more meat on offer than he’d expected. But then the last time he’d been in Egypt he’d been on a _very_ tight budget, and tonight’s caterers probably weren’t. He was still on his first circuit of the tables when his peripheral vision registered a too-purposeful movement.

Oh. A young crewman heading towards him. Had he seen him around? He wasn’t sure. In the last few days he’d been paying much less attention to faces than he usually did. He put his plate down and turned to face the man directly.

“You are Mister Bodie?”

“Yes.”

“I must take you to see your Mister Cowley.”

“I didn’t know he was on board.”

“Yes. Come with me, please.”

Bodie raised an eyebrow and followed. Something going on back home? Something that couldn’t wait until the end of his shift? Or maybe there was a problem in the team. One of the suits suspected of supporting the Russian case? Not much point trying to guess, especially not where Cowley was concerned.

Was he the first human (apart from Cowley) to walk down this corridor? Disappointing to find that the corridors in a spaceship were like the corridors in any other kind of ship. There weren’t even any atmospheric smells: no salt, no engine-oil. Just air that was long-due a holiday from being breathed.

“Mister Cowley, I bring your man.” As the door opened, Cowley was getting to his feet and coming forward to meet them. Bodie didn’t like the look on his face: worry? guilt? And why had he bothered standing up? Bodie _really_ didn’t like it when Cowley was polite to him.

“I will wait outside.” The door closed, leaving Bodie alone with his boss in what seemed to be a small conference room.

“Sit down, 3.7.” They both sat, in neighbouring chairs.

Cowley still had that look. “What’s wrong, sir?”

A deep sigh, and Cowley looked down and away at the centre of the table, then started massaging his right temple with his fingertips. There was a cold, cold feeling building in Bodie’s guts.

Another sigh. “I’ve had over an hour, and I still don’t know where…”

Mourning. That was the note in the man’s voice. Bodie leapt to his own worst conclusion. “They’ve reported on the last medical. You know it’s a mistake. I’m as fit as I’ve ever been.”

Almost a smile. “They reported over a month ago and, yes, you are.” Pause. “It’s nothing you’d guess, man. I’ve seen their king.”

“And? I’ve always been very polite with them. And don’t let the Foreign Office tell you anything else.”

“They didn’t. Maybe you were too polite. He wants you to marry one of his sons.” Bodie’s aggrieved expression hadn’t changed, not by a millimetre. “The second one. Udon Koal. ‘The Last of the Family’. That’s the one with water running down his face.”

“Yeah, the one with the dripping hair and the hands. I was talking to him this morning, and it was fine. _I_ was fine. Can’t we ask him in here so we can sort this out?”

“It’s not allowed. His father wants you to marry him. You’re not allowed to talk to him before you give your answer.”

“But what answer -” A few seconds, then Bodie closed his mouth. He frowned, then shook his head briskly and grinned. “It sounded for a moment like you said ‘marry him’.”

“I did.” And Bodie’s expression twisted, then settled to something hard and intent and watchful. “He went to the Prime Minister first, and she called me in, and I talked to him too, about an hour ago. He did not say why they had chosen you. He _did_ know your name. But he didn’t ask…” An embarrassed shift of the shoulders. “Anything personal about you. On their side, they seem to be completely decided.” A pause, and a deep breath. “If you accept, they’ll put their base in Britain. If we refuse… The strongest implication was that they wouldn’t set up base on Earth at all, and that a planet without their ‘protection’ wouldn’t last long.”

“Eh? He’s not saying they’ll declare war?”

“Not in those words. But—according to him—they’re not the only group out there with space-flight, and once the word about us got out…”

“Do we believe him?”

“How can we tell?”

Bodie stood up abruptly then walked off at an angle until he encountered a wall. There was a blaze of panic-driven fury in which he wanted to punch his way through the wall, rip the ship apart, but beyond a clenched fist there was little external sign. Gradually, he fought the panic back using the approach of refusing, quite deliberately, to face what was happening. Yes, he knew it was there, but he walled it off, made his mental gaze slide over it, and insisted that the problem inside that mental mist was small. Nothing he wouldn’t be able to cope with in the morning.

“When’s it going to happen, then?” He saw Cowley taking in his calmness, and felt the problem shrink further under that relief and admiration. Yes, he’d get through this, at least until Cowley was out of sight.

An echo of his calm. Let’s both be British about this. “When you get back to their planet. The journey’s about two months. They want to leave as soon as the negotiations are over.”

“And when will that be?”

“Tonight. If the base is going to be in London.”

“Right.” He sat down, then stretched out with magnificent casualness. “Any guesses what they’re playing at?” Set in a tone of abstract curiosity, as if the answer had no relevance at all to himself.

“We think… that he wants to cut this son out of the succession. Maybe it’s a punishment, maybe it’s for his own safety. I don’t know. Maybe it’s even part of their religion.”

“Mmn. You think they’d be able to find someone suitable closer to home, though.”

Cowley nodded. “The PM said he must be worried about factions at court. In which case, it would make sense to bring in someone who’s a complete outsider. With no family, no history.”

“I think the son is in on it. Whatever you want to make of that. They’ve both been talking to me, sizing me up. So we know: they _can_ tell humans apart.” He grinned, thinking only of that debriefing, then became suddenly serious, thinking further and needing to know, despite himself. “Does the Foreign Office already know about this? Is there going to be a big announcement?”

“No one knows except us and the PM. They don’t want us to announce it—they know it would… annoy the other countries.”

Despite the relief, Bodie frowned and sat up straighter. “I wonder if they always do business like this.” _My in-laws_. Instantly, he pushed that thought out of sight into the mist.

“We’ll have to wait and see. But otherwise, every one of them has been completely professional. They’ve got hundreds of scouts down on the planet, and they’re all behaving like perfect ambassadors. I suppose… this is more important to them than the business.”

“He’s waiting for the answer, isn’t he? The king.”

“Yes.”

“And after that?”

“They have a shuttle waiting to take you home. They want you to move in here tomorrow. He said something about a betrothal ceremony. But he said he wouldn’t give me the details until he had your answer.”

“You’ll call me when you know the details, then?”

“Yes. It might be very late tonight, though. It’s already eleven in London.”

Bodie shrugged. How much sleep did the Old Man imagine he’d be getting tonight, anyway? “I still want to know, whenever you get back.”

When they opened the door, they found the crewman immediately outside to the right, standing very straight with his arms crossed, clearly on duty.

“You can tell your king that we are ready.”

The man nodded at Cowley, then turned to use the communications panel to the side of the door. He didn’t speak in English, and the language sounded impossibly rapid to Bodie, and full of swoops and tricks that were probably beyond the human larynx. At least he already knew that the prince spoke English. Though what would they have to say to one another after this?

“Will you wait in this room, please, Mister Cowley? Inoni Sarai will come very soon. Mister Bodie, I must take you to the shuttlecraft that is waiting.”

Bodie nodded to the man, then spoke to Cowley. “Whatever time you get back.”

“Yes. Thank you, 3.7.”

* * * * *

Bodie had only a short drive from Battersea, where the heliport could now call itself a spaceport. Once home, he made himself some cheese on toast and a mug of tea; he really wanted a drink, a large drink, but tomorrow was the very last day on which he could afford a hangover. Not that he was thinking about tomorrow.

Might as well make a start on packing. They’d let him take a suitcase or two, wouldn’t they? And there were things he didn’t want to leave around for Accommodation to find.

He laid out two sets of clothes for the next day, depending on the instructions Cowley was being given. There was the basic black he’d been wearing at the negotiations, and there was what he’d wear for an ordinary, no-tie day at work—cream trousers and short jacket, and faded blue shirt. The second was closest to the son’s look; of all of the royals, his clothes were easily the most casual, judged by human standards, at least. It added some weight to any suggestion that he might actually be the one in charge—again, judging by human standards. The most important, or the least. And both views could be made to fit with this marriage business. Not that Bodie was thinking about that.

Underwear first, then a few pairs of trousers and some cotton polo-necks. Jumpers? Depended on their weather, didn’t it? He got out a second suitcase and put two light and two warm in it. Shirts and jackets? Best put them in the backup suitcase too, since their style marked them as human. Would they want him to fit in? Or to stand out? Would he be the pet human at court? Were they getting bored with the current jester?

He still wasn’t thinking about it, yet he knew that he had never in his life felt more frightened. Working for CI5, you didn’t expect (or want) to feel safe, but even in the worst of his military days, there had never been a crisis that had lasted more than a week. Whatever the Hailin had planned for him, it was going to last the rest of his life. _Don’t think about it_. And by normal standards, he wasn’t—his panic-controls were holding firm. It was more as if his entire body was terrified for him.

* * * * *

It was nearly two and he was halfway through clearing out the kitchen when the entryphone announced Cowley’s arrival. Bodie swore under his breath. The farewell talk. Couldn’t the man guess that he’d rather do this over the phone? And he’d brought a bottle of Glenfiddich—yes, let’s drag this out by another hour, shall we?

“So what’s the plan?”

“I’ll pick you up for the shuttle at eight in the morning. The king will explain to you what’s involved in their betrothal ceremony… He said it’s very simple… And then you’ll meet the son and -”

“Get officially engaged. And finally get to see him without his mask.”

Cowley was shaking his head, looking baffled. Bodie almost smiled, wondering if his boss had worn the same expression with the king. “No.” A sigh. “The opposite. You’ll have to wear a mask as well. You’re neither allowed to see the other’s face until… until you get to their planet.”

“Let me guess. It’s a religious thing.”

“Yes. The way he put it, each engaged couple represents their two gods of marriage. The mask that the son wears is one of them, but the other is back on the planet. Each engaged couple has to play these gods all the time they’re engaged, either if they’re not members of the royal family and don’t normally wear a mask at all. He said they see it as giving up part of your private life for the good of the community.”

Bodie shrugged, long beyond surprise. “Anything else? Is the whole fleet invited to this ceremony?”

“No. Just the four of us. The other thing is that the two of you have to be chaperoned. You’re not allowed to be alone together before…”

“Suits me. Wonder if I can string this engagement out for twenty or thirty years.”

That got a smile from Cowley, suppressed and then indulged. “That’s exactly the remark I’d expect from you, 3.7.”

A brief returning smile and a lift of the eyebrows. “So when do we leave? The fleet, I mean.”

“The day after tomorrow. He announced their choice just before I left. The negotiations are officially over.”

“I’ve nearly finished packing. Did he say how much they’re letting me take?”

“Anything you want, he said.”

“Or what they want me to wear tomorrow?”

“He didn’t say. But he took me to see the suite they’re getting ready for you, and it’s larger than many London flats. He really wanted to know if you’d be pleased with it, if it was good enough for you. And he told me three times that you only have to ask for something from Earth, and they will get the base to put it on the first ship out. I know it doesn’t make sense, but the only thing he seemed worried about was what _you_ were going to make of _them_. ‘How can we help him feel at home?’ He asked me that more than once. I don’t think they’ve ever done this before.”

“I won’t wear a tie tomorrow, then. And I’ll take that second suitcase.”

“He’s assuming you’ll want more than that. He’s arranged for you to come back here after the ceremony. With some of them, of course. Point out what you want. I also told him that we—your employers—would be getting some other supplies for you. So make a list of what you want.”

“I’ll do that, all right. And after the packing?”

“He thought you’d want to say goodbye to your family and friends, although you can’t tell them the truth about where you’re going. Not yet.”

Bodie shook his head. “Uhuh. But what are you going to tell people? When I don’t turn up to work tomorrow?”

“In a week or so I’ll let it be known that you packed it in overnight and went back to freelance work. I don’t know why and I don’t know where—though probably the Middle East.”

“Fair enough.” A short pause. “I don’t suppose he said what they’d do if they decided they’d made the wrong choice?”

“He said that if… problems arose during the betrothal period, then they’d put you on their fastest scout ship and send you home.”

“And keep the base in London and everything?”

“He didn’t say. But he seemed to assume that you would do everything in your power to make it work.”

“Safe bet, eh? No, I think they _have_ done this before.”

Shortly after that, Cowley drained his glass, stood up and went to get his coat, gesturing to Bodie to keep the bottle. At the front door, he said, “I’ll be coming back to HQ straight after the ceremony. But they know how to get in touch with me.”

“Doubt I’ll need to bother you, sir.”

Then brief but awkward moments of intermittent eye-contact, and Cowley rested his hand on a muscled forearm. “It won’t be the same without you, 3.7.” The hand lifted, they exchanged economical nods, and Cowley was gone.

* * * * *

Bodie finished clearing the kitchen then sorted through his personal papers. By most people’s standards, it was probably all chillingly impersonal, but they didn’t know the significance of this note, or that blurred photograph. No sense at all in taking it with him, so it had to go.

Passport. He snorted, then flicked through it, feeling a mixture of nostalgia and contempt for the idea of border controls just between countries. Beneath the notice of space-going royalty. That did have a ring to it. But at what a price.

The photograph: taken when he was with 2 Para, and trying out for the SAS by the look of it. Would you let this man into your country? Would you choose this man to marry your quietest son? A shuddering shake of the head, and he closed the passport with a snap and dropped it in the garbage bin.

He took the bags down to the block’s garbage area at around three, made some more tea and worked on his list of supplies. Finally he went to bed and tried to sleep, though it seemed that he spent most of the time remembering further supplies and turning on the light to add them to the list.

* * * * *

By the time Bodie left the flat the next morning, the news about the base was well and truly broken. It had been too late to make the papers, but the radio-waves were buzzing with it and at Battersea they looked set to party for days. Maybe one of these years Bodie would smile in satisfaction at the memory of the excitement.

He and Cowley were the only passengers in the shuttle. Cowley read the newspaper while Bodie stared out of the porthole. The first human to leave the solar system. That would be something, wouldn’t it? Even if no other human knew except Cowley.

The king was waiting for them in the docking-bay. “Mister Bodie. Mister Cowley. Good morning. Have you eaten?”

“Yes, but I could use another coffee if you have any.”

“We now have enough coffee to start an espresso franchise. I hope you like the varieties we put in your kitchen.”

“Well, I like it strong. Is that what you’re planning? The espresso franchise.” They were in the corridor, heading away from the conference area.

“Oh, I wouldn’t rule it out. I can name you at least ten cultures that will bankrupt themselves over caffeine. Why? Are you interested in handling that part of the business?”

“Um. I - To be honest, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” A royal as a coffee trader? When would he have time for the banquets and ship-launchings?

“Well, it’s in Itano’s portfolio at the moment. I’ll introduce you—tell her she might have to fight you for it.” Even half-turned to key the door open, the king must have seen and interpreted the fleeting expression: “That was a joke, Mister Bodie.”

This must be the suite they’d arranged for him. Immediately to the right of the door was a kitchen area, very white, and with biscuits and tea and coffee stacked against the far wall, and a teapot and coffee-maker near the water supply. The king moved into the kitchen, but gestured them forward to the large, bare living area. “Please sit down. How do you take your coffee, apart from strong?”

The seating-area was upholstered in a deep-blue material similar to suede. The low table in front of Bodie held a square, shallow box, and a pair of rust-brown gloves.

“I thought they’d have servants everywhere. Makes you wonder how good business is, if the king has to make his own coffee.” Cowley didn’t respond, and Bodie continued surveying the room, although there was little to see except for the white, curving walls, the grey carpet, and the door behind the couch, which presumably led to the bedroom. The lights were strips set in the ceiling and down the walls. Not Bodie’s idea of a home. And he wouldn’t have guessed that they were this spartan, either.

The coffee was soon ready, and the king sitting in the chair to the left of the couch, next to Bodie. While the cafetière was standing, he explained the betrothal ceremony, which was indeed very simple—not even any words for Bodie to memorise. The box contained a plain white mask and a large number of small, metallic strips.

“These stick to the skin. You place one behind each ear and they generate a field that keeps the mask in place. You have to replace them about every four days. Ray will show you the system.”

“Ray?”

“Ray Bakkel. That’s his name.”

“I thought it was Udom Kol.”

“That’s the name of his role. Ray is his personal name. They’re separate.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll get the hang of it.” He picked up one of the strips and pulled his ear forward. “Like this?”

“Closer to the vertical. Yes, like that.”

The second strip in place, he picked up the mask. It seemed to be an unglazed ceramic, and not light. “Is this your second marriage god? What’s… the name?”

“Her name is Embrun, and no, the mask is back home. That’s an Agusah. It’s an anonymous mask. Neutral. We use it during the betrothal and for funerals.”

Bodie raised an eyebrow then turned the mask over and lifted it to his face. When it was about a quarter of an inch from his skin, he felt the field take it and the weight lift from his hands.

“Well, sir? How do I look?”

“I’d still know you anywhere, 3.7.” A lie, and Bodie knew it. “Can you see properly?”

Slight head-movements, then: “Not bad. Limited field of view, but good enough to stop me bumping into things.”

“We sometimes wear lenses that give a larger field.” The king gestured at the eye-holes on his golden mask. “But they also give some distortion and I don’t think you need that to cope with at the moment.”

“Probably not.” Bodie bent forward to pick up the gloves. The material had a dry, fine texture like leather, but was surprisingly elastic, and also warm—it was like having his hand clasped in a friendly grip.

“Shall I tell Ray we’re ready?”

“Yes. Please.” _‘He’s assuming you’ll do everything you can to make this work.’_ So do everything you can, 3.7.

The king rose and went to the door, operated the communications panel set into the bulkhead, and spoke in that rapid language again.

A wait of about a minute, then a sound at the door. Udom Kol’s gloves were a deep green. He spoke quietly to his father, though with his face turned to Bodie, and then he walked towards the humans. Bodie found himself on his feet, unable to sit passively while his innards were knotting and twisting, and his skin so heated. This was definitely happening, and now, and to him.

“Mister Bodie. Orsara. I - I still can’t quite believe that this is really going to happen. Everyone said, ‘Think what you’re asking of him. Be prepared for -’” I think it’ll be months before I really believe it.” The depth of emotion was evident, and Bodie blinked and shivered, and felt panic closing in on him. Think about… Think about… Don’t think about anything, just count the drops of water on the forehead of that mask.

“I know exactly what you mean.” Very quiet—and obviously taken for hushed sincerity. The prince took a step closer to him, as if pushed. They were now less than two feet apart, and Bodie could hear the man’s breathing.

Some words from the king in that language, though slow this time, and then the prince was pulling the glove from his right hand. Oh, God. This was how the betrothal ceremony began. Now. Already. Oh, God. Bodie felt numb, and his hands seemed to be moving of their own volition as he mirrored the other’s actions.

Right gloves removed, they stepped forward in unison and joined their bared hands. The prince’s hand was warm and strong, and Bodie could feel the grip of each long finger. Such a simple contact, but Bodie’s nerves were overloading, playing tricks on him and routing every signal through his groin. They did that sometimes; it meant nothing.

The touch lasted no more than five seconds. Now what next? Oh, yes. As his right hand was taking hold of the green glove, his left was handing over the brown. Some fumbling to tug the new glove on… and he was betrothed to Ray Bakkel, or Udom Kol, or whatever the hell he was supposed to call him. He felt thoroughly ill.

There was silence for some seconds as they still stood close, and then the prince moved away, and the king spoke. “I don’t know about you, but historic occasions make me thirsty. Ray, you’ll have to leave so Mister Bodie can drink his coffee.”

“It’s ‘Bodie’.”

“Wasn’t that what I said?”

“I mean just ‘Bodie’. No ‘Mister’. That’s all anyone ever calls me.”

“I see. I’ll make sure everyone knows that.” Then to his son: “Ray?”

“I’ll be next door.” The prince left.

“What’s the problem with me drinking coffee, then?”

“It’s difficult to do in a mask.”

Bodie winced, partly at his display of stupidity, and partly at the knowledge that he’d almost forgotten that he was wearing the thing. Well, you could say that he’d had other things on his mind.

The king served the two cups quickly, as Bodie was making his way back to the couch, and then he sat on the edge of the table, facing Bodie. “Just pull, but be ready to take the weight when it comes clear of the field.”

For the first moments after the mask came off, Bodie’s face felt strangely chill and exposed, though the thing hadn’t even been touching his skin. He blinked and took a deep breath, then placed the mask on the small table-unit by his side.

“Actually, you look less stunned than I was expecting. As far as I remember with my sister, she wandered around in a daze for about half an hour.” So what threats had he used with his sister? Bodie just raised an eyebrow and made the movements of a brief smile.

“Well, he’s a highly-trained security agent. They’re good at dealing with new situations.”

“Obviously. What do you want to do about packing up your possessions, Bodie?”

“I started last night. There’s not much to do. Unless you want to bring the whole flat here, brick by brick.”

The king ignored the suggestion. “There are several options: we can send down a party of crew-members with orders to pack everything they see, or -”

“It’s not all mine.”

“It is now, if you want it, 3.7.”

“No thanks. That armchair’s done enough to my spine already.” He finished his coffee and put the cup on the table next to the mask.

“In that case you’d better go with them and pick out what you want. And it might be useful if Ray went as well. Apart from anything else, I think he should know how you’re used to living.”

“Yeah, a perfect chance to see the primitive creature in its natural habitat.” The dispersing adrenaline was lightening his head to the point of intoxication.

“Bodie.” A quiet reprimand from Cowley, but the king seemed to have taken no offence.

“Obviously, he knows on one level that you won’t always find it easy being so far from home, but at the moment he’s not in a state to think very deeply about anyone else, even you. Still, if he does see your home now, I think it will help you both later.”

“I’m -” Bodie closed his eyes hard and dragged a hand through his hair, determined to put off his next meeting with the prince. Just until he could get back yesterday’s non-thinking calm. But he could tell that, unlike Cowley, the king and the prince weren’t going to show decent, helpful, British reticence over this—or maybe over anything. “It’s my last few hours at home. I had some privacy in mind.” There was a definite edge to his voice, and he couldn’t seem to iron it out.

“We thought you probably would. Which is why I’m making the effort to persuade you to take Ray along.”

“You’ve all been watching me for days, haven’t you? Writing reports whenever I twitched a muscle. Planning out everything I’m likely to think or do for the next six months.” He looked up to scan the ceiling. “So where’s the camera?”

“Bodie, you know perfectly well -”

“The kitchen. That would make sense. Let’s check.” He was on his feet, desperate for some space, and also far from sure about that camera. At first there was silence from the living-area, but after about a minute the two older men started talking again—about him, of course, though he couldn’t hear the words. He started a noisy exploration of cupboard and boxes.

Still talking. There had been some cans of Coke in the cooler. He popped one open then slumped against the counter, glaring at the wall opposite.

Footsteps approaching. Bugger Cowley. And was the man even his boss any more? Bugger him twice over.

“You’ll have to be patient with us, Mister Bodie. Bodie. We don’t have much real imagination. Of course you’re finding everything about this difficult. You must let us know what we do wrong.”

Bodie stared at him, puzzled and wary. This was a king apologising to him. They terrorised him, and then they apologised when he threw a tantrum. “How much _have_ you been watching me?”

“An hour a day, maybe. Do you blame us, under the circumstances?” Bodie frowned sharply and shrugged. “We didn’t learn much. I couldn’t understand why you should be the one that Ray has to have.” Now Bodie closed his eyes for a second, feeling a wave of heat passing over his face. At least Cowley hadn’t been present to hear that; let there be some chance that Cowley would carry on thinking that it was all a piece of court politics and not a real marriage in any sense. “Until just now, in there. And there’s no camera—the idea is… impossible for us. It would be a serious religious offence.”

More staring, though now less wary. Finally, Bodie said slowly, “I can’t believe I’m what you would choose for him. I must be pond-life as far as you’re concerned.”

“You’re right. It was a surprise. In many respects. But in most of them, a welcome one. You will receive nothing but support from me. Be assured.”

Bodie sighed, and looked down at the floor. The adrenaline must still be racing around his system—he couldn’t seem to hold on to any reaction for more than five seconds at a time. Now it was pure curiosity. What the hell were these people? How long would it take him to figure it out?

“All right. Let him come down with me.”

“Good. He’ll be pleased. What else would you like to do before you leave?”

“Nothing. Unpack, I suppose. Start to find my way around. There’s nothing else I need to do at home.”

“Have you already said goodbye to your family and friends? Without saying where you’re going, of course.”

“That’s all taken care of.”

“Then shall I go and tell Ray? He’ll take you down, and I’ll sort out the last details with Mister Cowley. Press this to open the door to us.”

Back at the seating-area, Bodie was slow to meet Cowley’s eyes. He sat on the edge of the table, gave a deep exhalation, and finally looked up. “We sorted a few things out.”

“Somehow avoiding a declaration of war, I take it.”

“Somehow.”

“So what do you think?”

“No idea. Maybe he’s better than you even at triple-think.”

“Will you let us know what happens? And you know to send for any supplies you need.”

“Yeah.” Write to Cowley about the garden parties and ship launchings? Oh, very likely. Bodie stood up and went to the other side of the table to get the mask, and they waited for the royals in silence. It was not a long wait.

“I’ll chaperone you to the transporter room. The two crewmembers who’ll take over and do your packing should already be there.”

Back along the corridor, to a door close to the docking-bay. The room was full of equipment and activity, but it was easy to identify the two women assigned to them—from their alert expressions at the king’s entrance, and from the set of packing-materials they carried.

“It’s all set up, Udom Kol. Inform me when you return. Mister Cowley, this way, please.” The king had turned away and was steering Cowley towards the door.

“Bodie.” More loudly: “Bodie.” The prince was trying to turn Bodie’s attention from the closing door. “We’re on Pad Three. Over here.”

The next few minutes were like something out of **_Star Trek_** —except that the TV program would have left out the boring bureaucratic checks, and the methodical issuing of personal homing-badges, and the exchanges in the alien language. The prince supplied explanations to Bodie in English, telling him he’d been assigned to Circuit Two, and directing him to the appropriate ring—Bodie tried to memorise the squiggle inside the ring ( _Left-handed curve with a circle equals two_ ), but his sense of foreboding told him he was going to be dependent on the prince for a long time to come.

The experience of transport itself was an anti-climax, seemingly instantaneous and with none of the fading out and in that he’d expected. A faint tingling around his scalp and arms, and then he was standing in his flat, a foot away from the TV, with the three others nearby.

The prince turned to him instantly, feelings of concern and responsibility evident. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah, fine.” Matter-of-fact to the point of boredom. “I didn’t know you had all that. Why d’you bother with shuttles?”

“We don’t show it to strangers. And shuttles have their uses. Where do you want to start?”

“I packed my clothes. Most of them. They’re through here.” He led the way to the bedroom, where the two suitcases stood at the foot of the bed. Behind him, he heard the prince talking to the women.

“What were you saying?”

“Just telling them where we’re starting.”

“They don’t speak English, then?” Dismay.

“At the moment, we’ve only about thirty who speak it properly. The family, and then the contact specialists, though they’ll be staying to run the base. I wouldn’t worry. You’ll find the crew will pick it up very quickly.”

Assuming that ‘the family’ meant the royals, that gave him a grand total of six people to talk to. Wonderful.

One of the women was setting up packing cases, and the other was hefting the largest suitcase—the one with his underwear—onto the bed. When she started to unzip it, Bodie stepped forward and put a hand on the lid. “It’s packed. It’s all packed.”

“It’s easier if we use our own cases. They’re set up for the transporter.”

Bodie absolutely did not want to stand there with this man and watch a pair of strange women going through his underwear. Escape. Escape. Again, the kitchen seemed the best option. “This’ll probably be thirsty work. Can I get you a tea or something?” To the prince: “Would they like something to drink?” A good thing he’d kept some tea and milk for that morning’s breakfast.

A brief exchange, ending with the women smiling at him while the prince gave their answer. “Thank you. Tea would be good.”

By the time he got back with the tray, the second suitcase was nearly empty. The prince was standing by the bed, holding one of his jumpers—kneading it, Bodie suspected, though he didn’t want to be thinking about that. “Help yourselves to milk and sugar.” The prince handed the jumper to one of the women, talking as he did so, then nodded, joined Bodie by the chest-of-drawers, and got the mugs ready for the tea.

“You’ve got more clothes than that, haven’t you? What about the black suit you used to wear? Or is it not yours?”

“You people don’t wear things like that. Not that I’ve seen. Didn’t seem much point in bringing it.”

“Not at the moment, we don’t. But every new contact brings changes. Please bring it. I’d like to see you in it again.”

Bodie swallowed, feeling truly thankful to be wearing the mask. He had to make this work, and had to hope that two months would give him time to find out how. For now, he couldn’t trust his voice, and just turned and flung open the doors of the wardrobe.

After he’d placed the suit on the bed, he found the prince going through his other jackets—stroking the shoulders, fingering the lapels, holding them open to feel the lining. Again, Bodie could hear his breathing. Thank God for the chaperones.

“You want me to take all of these, too?”

“Only if you want to. I like this one.” The cashmere blazer Bodie had bought after a month of murderous overtime. “D’you think they’d fit me? Your suits.”

“Well enough. Bit long in the legs, maybe.”

“Then if you don’t want them, can I have them?”

“Sure.” The prince started hauling out jackets and then trousers. Bodie took a handful of dress shirts from a shelf, then came back for a couple of jumpers and casual shirts.

Now ties. The good black tie—the blue-striped tie—the bow-tie… A flash of white in the wardrobe mirror caught his eye. He turned his head, froze, and the cold lengths of silk slid from his hand to the floor. _No. That can’t be me._ He tilted his head, and the creature in the mirror did the same. And back. At that moment he felt that he’d been dead for some time, and had only just realised. There was no longer any William Bodie; these people had erased him. He couldn’t look away.

Sounds of hurried movement, and there was another masked creature beside him in the mirror. He shuddered, and again under the pressure of hands on his arm and waist, drawing him away. “Betrothed. You need to sit down. Here.” His calves encountered the edge of the bed and he folded onto it, the prince next to him, so close their thighs were touching. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I’m sorry.” The hand on his waist lifted, pressed briefly between his shoulder-blades, then settled on his neck and in his hair. “Do you want to go back to the ship? I’ll tell Rama and Lannion to bring everything except the furniture.”

Bodie closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He was recovering from the sight of the mask, but now he had to cope with these wandering hands. The fingers stroked gently through his hair and it took all his control not to flinch away. The Hailin owned him, and God did they know it.

From the foot of the bed came a throat-clearing, then a few words from one woman, and then from the other. The hands gripped him painfully, then eased, but it was clear from the tone of the prince’s reply that he was angry and meant to stay that way. Bodie stayed under the hands, head bowed, knowing that there was nothing he could do about whatever was going on.

The women were quiet and apologetic, but determined. The prince pursued the argument for another couple of exchanges, but finally released Bodie with an exclamation, then sprang from the bed and stepped away from it, arms outstretched as if proclaiming innocence. The women were satisfied.

“Fucking chaperones! Only one thing on their mind.”

Bodie’s head snapped up, and he laughed, partly in relief, partly at the lunacy of the whole situation. He’d love to ask the prince what this second thing was on his mind.

In reply, a dry chuckle. “Yeah, as if we didn’t have enough to deal with. _Do_ you want to go back to the ship?”

Where there would just be more of the same. “No. I’m OK now.” Bodie stood up, then bent to collect the ties. “What’s the weather like, where we’re going?”

“Where I live, it’s a bit hotter than here. Not much. But we can move anywhere you like. Wherever you feel comfortable.”

They probably had a palace in every city, then. Would there be separate quarters? Or would they really have to live together? Don’t think about it.

Packing the remainder of his clothes didn’t take long, but still filled the two containers and part of a third. There had been a time when he could carry his entire life in a rucksack. Now that might be an approach—treat all of this as some sort of field exercise. He had dealt with everything in the bathroom the night before, and that was cleared within minutes while the prince was explaining that they had close equivalents to toothpaste and razor-blades.

“So if your list of supplies said, ‘Enough toothpaste to last sixty years,’ we should call your people and tell them not to bother.” There was a smile in his voice, and it was possible that this was his idea of cheering Bodie up after the shock with the mirror. ‘Sixty years’. The last thing Bodie needed to hear right now. No. The very last thing would be: ‘But I just know you’ll love my big, bushy beard.’

“No need. It didn’t.”

The night before, after Cowley’s visit, he’d filled a Sainsbury’s bag with about twenty books—enough for the journey, and beyond that was a blank. But since they had these spare packing cases, and they were large enough to take his pictures, too… “The books in that bag. And everything on those shelves. And those. And that.” The third container filled. And the fourth. And the fifth.

“What about all this?” The prince was pointing at the stereo, and the records and tapes stacked beneath it.

“It’s electrical equipment,” Bodie said briefly, having said his goodbyes to it the night before. His first major purchase back in the UK; his first real proof to himself that he’d given up living out of a rucksack. And Accommodation would probably throw it straight out.

“I know it is. So what about it?”

Less than patient, Bodie pointed at a wall-socket. “How’m I going to plug it in? You’re not telling me that’s the same.”

“We don’t have a Technology Interface department for nothing. They’ll make it work. _Do_ you want it?”

“Yeah. And those records and tapes go with it.”

The prince issued instructions and a sixth container snapped into shape. “Anything else you’d decided we couldn’t handle?”

Bodie looked at the TV, then shook his head.

“Sure?”

“Yeah.” He looked up at the ceiling. “How do you get them to beam us back up?”

“We haven’t done the kitchen yet.”

“Nothing there. We’re finished.”

“Um.” The prince scanned the room then wandered out into the hallway, still scanning. “What about this picture?”

“Oh. Yeah, alright.” Bodie had forgotten the hallway.

“And what’s in here? I thought I’d seen another door.”

“My leathers!” They’d probably be bugger-all use to him in outer-space, but he was damned if anyone else was going to wear them.

The prince stood back and let Bodie into the broom cupboard, radiating smugness. He deflated when the leathers were dragged out into the light. “Those? You wear those, do you?”

At last. An aspect of Earth culture they hadn’t covered. Bodie explained about motorcycles and the need for protection, expecting a lecture about safety from a more-advanced society.

Instead: “So where’s your machine? Let’s bring it.”

“What, and you’ll get that department onto it?”

“Sure.”

Bodie thought about it. He didn’t feel as possessive about the bike as he did about the leathers, and as for being the only biker on the planet… A sad figure going round and round the royal park. “Do you have anything similar? Dangerous sports, I mean.”

“We have our moments. It sounds as if we’ll have to keep reminding each other that we’re married men.”

As if Bodie was ever likely to forget. “No, I’ll leave it. I’ll take my leathers, though.”

“‘Oh, and thanks for finding them for me, Udom Kol.’”

Bodie laughed, and with genuine amusement. “Nah, I’d have remembered in time. Something as important as that.”

The prince just shook his head, and they went back into the living-room to pack the leathers into the seventh container.

“What next?”

“I’ll call the ship, and they’ll bring us up as soon as the pad’s free.” As it turned out, the pad was free immediately, and the four of them were back on the ship within a minute.

Bodie looked around the alcove, frowning. “Where is everything?”

“The containers are badged as freight. They’ll bring them up separately and send them to your cabin. Shouldn’t be more than an hour. What d’you want to do now?”

Bodie shrugged. “Go back to my cabin? I could do with something to eat.”

“Can you make do with what’s in your kitchen? Or d’you want to see what the galley’s got on the menu?”

Alien food. A galley-full of hungry aliens. Not today, thank you. “I’ll make do.” It wouldn’t be a hardship. “Who stocked my kitchen?” Almost all of it was from Marks and Spencers.

“I did. I went by what you used to choose at the buffets. Is it OK?”

A twitch. “Yeah, fine.” An hour a day of aliens sizing him up was still two hours a day too much.

“Right. I’ll tell Inoni Sarai we’re back.” He made for the nearest communications panel. The women talked quietly—waiting for further chaperone-duty?—and Bodie started memorising the layout of the room, an automatic reaction to being in enemy territory.

After speaking to his father, the prince had a few words with the women, and one of them left the room. The other woman started walking slowly towards the door, and the prince looked back at Bodie, clearly wanting him to follow.

“I can find the way on my own. I’ve been there and back.”

“But I can take you. We’ll just be next door in my quarters while you’re eating.”

“You don’t have to take me. I’m not about to get lost. Unless you have to unlock my door for me.” _And lock me in afterwards?_

“It’s not set to lock at the moment.” Bodie thought he saw the prince swallow. Of course they weren’t going to let him wander around on his own, but he couldn’t resist trying. “You’ve got a good sense of direction, then?”

“One of the best.”

“That’s useful. Well, if you do get lost, just look for one of these -” A communications panel. “- hold down the bottom-left button, and ask for Udom Kol. How long do you think you’ll need?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll go and see to some business in the offices, then. Call me if you want help unpacking.”

Bodie recovered quickly from his amazement. “OK. See you.” A nod in farewell and he was out of the door before the prince, and heading to the right down the corridor as if he’d done this a hundred times.

* * * * *

As he inspected the contents of the fridge, there was a fraction of a second in which he felt glad of that hour a day. There were meat-dishes galore: a couple of curries, a lasagne, a beef casserole, even crispy duck complete with sauce and pancakes. The Hailin were certainly thorough.

However, they weren’t perfect. Bodie was 90% sure that he’d identified the oven, but there were ten different controls and none of them was labelled in English. Normally he’d be happy to experiment, but not with the last Marks and Sparks lasagne he might ever see. He settled for biscuits and cheese and a glass of red wine. _”Drinking on duty, 3.7?”_ You try being permanently on duty, sir—you’ll decide a glass or two can’t hurt.

He left his mask and the gloves on the counter and took his meal through to the living-area, where he dropped onto the seat, exhausted. Could it really only be midday? And was there any amount and type of rest that would set him back to normal? He tried to conjure that soothing mental mist, but it really seemed he had lost the knack.

What did he think of them so far? Horribly nice. Horribly. They were trying to drive him mad. That _must_ be it. Why else would royalty take the effort to be so patient, and thoughtful, and trusting? Why on earth would they bother, when they already owned him?

It couldn’t last. Sooner or later they’d give up on this game, they’d stop pretending that they didn’t have him on a leash. But would they stop quickly, or in stages? Would there be any warning? And which one would be the first to bring him to heel?

Well, it would be the prince, wouldn’t it? A couple of clear warnings there: the way he’d wanted to be thanked over the leathers; the way he’d dithered about letting Bodie make his own way to the cabin.

So what do you want, Bodie? There was some temptation to push them into ending the game, since he knew he had never been made for double-think. But it was too dangerous.

You’ve got to start being nice to him. Accept his help. Don’t tell him to piss off and leave you alone. Don’t cringe if he touches you again. Come on. Try to like him. Don’t make this more difficult for yourself.

Well, so far he did like him, especially the hints at a temper. If this… “arrangement” had been just a piece of court politics he suspected that, between them, they would have coped with it pretty well. But it wasn’t.

The prince didn’t know what his father had done. He really didn’t know about the threats. He thought Bodie was head-over-heels for him. Or he did until half an hour ago. Must come automatically with being a prince. All your life, your family always giving you exactly what you wanted, and everyone else rushing to throw themselves at your feet.

Bodie. 3.7. You’ve got to learn to fancy him. You know it’s the only way to get through this. Enough to convince him. Enough to convince yourself when the time comes. Start looking for the good points.

Yes, OK. I know. So when he’s finished in the office. When he comes to help me unpack. Just give me a few more minutes to myself, and I’ll be ready.


	3. Chapter 2

## Chapter 2

Bodie would have said he was too keyed-up for any kind of relaxation, but the sleepless night had obviously had its effect. The sound at the door sank down into his dreaming mind, caught after a couple of near-misses, and dragged him up to the surface. At first, before he opened his eyes, he thought he was crashed out on the sofa at HQ, and he started trying to remember what he’d done with his gun.

Oh. Right. The gun was hanging in its holster in the wardrobe. It was all back now. He stumbled to the door, still groggy, and hit the Open button. Two crewmembers were standing there, neither familiar to him, and each with one of his containers. He stepped back and pointed to the floor in front of the table, trusting that the gesture was a suitable response to whatever they were saying. The door closed behind them when they left.

One contained clothes—mostly from the first suitcase, from what he could see—and the second was filled with books. Easy choice: get the underwear out of sight before the prince showed up. He checked that the door behind the couch led to the bedroom and then returned to collect the container.

The bedroom was large, but even whiter and barer than the living area. The bed was a double, and was made, with a white sheet on the bottom, plump white pillows, and a duvet covered in a dark blue similar to that of the couch. Was this their usual bedding, or were they trying to make him feel at home?

There was a door immediately to the right as you came in from the living area. It lead to a small, glaringly-white bathroom—well, shower-room, by the look of that cubicle. All very prosaic.

The wardrobe was next to the bathroom door, built into the wall, with double doors that slid smoothly to the side. It made sense for a ship; you wouldn’t want doors swinging around on hinges during a storm. What sort of storms would you get in outer space, though? In a battle, then. Assuming the Hailin ever did any of their fighting in person.

He had just started putting his casual shirts away in one of the bottom drawers when the door sounded again. The same crewmembers with another two containers. No speaking this time—which offered hope that he’d get them all trained soon enough. The stereo in one, and his suits in the other.

Had the prince been serious about wanting all these? Yes. Very likely. Should he hang them up, or put them back in the box for the prince to fetch? There weren’t enough hangers for all of them, anyway, so he dealt with his black suit, the shirts and jumpers, and packed the rest neatly back in the box. Put some shirts and ties in too? Or leave that so they could choose them together? The personal touch. The prince would enjoy that. Bodie shuddered, but closed the container as it was, and took it back to the living area.

He was sitting on the coffee table, sorting idly through the box with the stereo, when the door sounded again. He wondered if the containers had come up all at once, or if he was getting them as they arrived. Where would be best for the leathers?

It was the king. “Oh, I thought you were -”

A swift jab at the controls to close the door. “Where are your gloves?”

“In there.” Bodie nodded his head towards the kitchen.

The king picked them up. “Put them on. Please.”

Bodie did as he was told, then he and the king faced one another in silence for the time it took Bodie to swallow down, “What the fuck am I supposed to have done now?” and try to decide how a professional would approach this.

A sigh, and he massaged the back of his neck. “So just how angry with me _are_ you?”

“No, it’s not that.” The king patted Bodie’s arm then nudged his elbow to steer him towards the seating-area—Bodie’s jaw clenched, but then he decided to pretend that the man was Cowley, and that helped. “I’m sorry. I’d have done that better if I hadn’t just come from seeing Ray.”

“Oh. Look, I know I’ve been… I was just about to call him about the unpacking.”

“That’s what I told him but he’d practically convinced himself that you were going to stow away on the last shuttle, or something. It’s his hormones in a storm, of course—and he _knows_ that-“ The king sat down heavily. “-but knowing doesn’t seem to be helping. Go on. Sit down.”

Bodie sat. “I know I’ve been a bit… difficult. But I’m getting over that now. Looks as if we’re going to get on really well.”

“Then you didn’t take your gloves off on purpose?”

“Well, yeah, but… I wanted to eat.” Open bemusement.

“That was exactly what I told him. But he insisted that he—or I or _any_ one—must have done something to offend you, to send you into russas. That you’d rejected the betrothal. ‘Then he’d hardly be next door waiting to unpack, would he?’ Too much for him at the moment.”

“So taking the gloves off is bad, then? And how did he find out?”

“Being seen without them is _very_ bad. It means you’re telling people you’re not betrothed. What you do when you’re alone is up to you. As for how, he called Freight and asked if his betrothed had started unpacking, and they said that his betrothed hadn’t been in the cabin, just some tall, dark, unknown crewmember. Even taking the view that it was you and you hadn’t already left the ship, he was… very upset when I got to him.”

“I’m not going to leave. Of course I’m not going to leave.”

“Of course you’re not. And of course you have different customs. But ours seem so… obvious to us, and you’re so much like us. If you’d been a Saidor I wouldn’t have assumed. But then I’d never have to.”

“What about the mask, then? Isn’t that part of the betrothal? Why haven’t you told me to put that back on?”

“It is, but it’s also part of a lot of other things. The gloves are very specific. And you don’t have to wear the mask when you’re with other people, only with him, whereas you always have to wear the gloves. However…” A hand raised in the air. “Because he’s a member of the family, good practice dictates that you should wear the mask as a matter of routine until we’re home and released from our duties.”

“What’s the family got to do with it? Good practice for what?”

“You’ll say we’re being over-cautious, but we prefer to do all we can to protect our privacy. I don’t want anyone on board—apart from the other members of the family—to see your face while we’re in this context.” He obviously thought that this should be sufficient explanation, and the pause was long before he responded to Bodie’s baffled expression. “Anyone who sees you here, living in the family’s quarters, will _know_ that you’re a part of the family. Or close to being part of it. And if they see you back home, off-duty, then they can start to guess that your husband is also part of the family. And it all goes on from there.”

“So you’re saying that people _don’t_ know?”

“Not officially, no. Of course, if you meet a member of the Bakkel family, or one of the Morven executive, then you know the probability is high. But not definite. It wouldn’t make much difference anyway, but we like to get on with our private lives. And I think it makes it easier on civilians, too, not having to pretend they don’t know.”

“So Ray has a private life? What is it?” Come on. How private could it really be? Look at the British royal family.

“He’s a policeman. A specialist. He works with a small team. Though he never tells us much about it. He works in Dishna—that’s a small city. And he lives in an apartment in a small town across the water. It’s very pretty. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t like it.”

“So wearing the mask isn’t full-time?”

The king shook his head. “A few hours a year. These contact missions are very unusual.”

“OK. And his friends and people don’t guess? You don’t get people coming round taking pictures? Asking his neighbours if they’ve -”

“No one would do that.” Very definite, and rather offended at the suggestion. “In his case, I don’t think anyone guesses at all. Though now that… Well, we’ll see. It’s the masks that are important. We wear them, that’s all.”

“Right.” Married to a policeman in a pretty town across the water. It was different, certainly. So were cops next to royalty here? “I’ve got it. Where is he now? Is he next door?”

A nod and a finger pointing towards the wall that faced the seating area. What was immediately on the other side? The prince’s bedroom? “If you listen closely, you can probably hear him climbing the walls. Oh, and another rule: when there are civilians present, don’t refer to him as Ray when he’s wearing Udom Kol. Use the name of the mask, instead. The same goes for all of us.”

“Udom Kol. OK. How long is it going to take us to convince him that I’m here to stay? And does he get like this often?” The prince was gently insane. Of course. Everything made sense now. A pedigree a mile long, and nerves like a pekinese.

“I won’t say he’s easy. Moody, definitely. But I wouldn’t have guessed that he’d turn this paranoid. That’ll probably go once we’re underway. And then he’ll be onto something else. I must say, you seem fairly calm yourself.”

Bodie raised his eyebrows. “Could be I’m still in shock.”

“Could be.” He stood up. “I’ll go and tell him, but he’ll insist on seeing for himself. He said he was going to help you unpack?”

“That was the plan.”

“Had he organised a chaperone?”

“Don’t think so.”

“I’ll set that up then. I can’t stay myself, not today.” Once at the door, he picked up Bodie’s mask and held it out, and Bodie walked over and took it without a word.

A few short minutes later, the door sounded again. Bodie tugged at his gloves before pressing Open, but it was the three remaining containers. He took the last one of clothes through to the bedroom and carried on where he’d left off, having given up on predictions and expectations for the time-being.

* * * * *

As it turned out, the prince took a good quarter of an hour to calm. By that time Bodie had finished in the bedroom and was exploring the bathroom, which was woefully short of glamorous high-tech surprises.

The king maintained his touch on his son’s shoulder throughout the process of opening and closing the door. “You see, Ray.” Quiet reassurance. “It was a misunderstanding. You said yourself that they’d happen.”

“I’m sorry, Ray. I didn’t realise.”

“‘My betrothed.’” Unmistakeably a command.

“My betrothed. I’m sorry.” At the back of his mind was a thread of awareness that the real Bodie would have been squirming at this. He’d make it in undercover yet.

With a long, unsteady exhalation, the prince stepped forward and wrapped himself tightly around Bodie. Their masks clashed. Bodie gasped and raised his arms instinctively, ready to throw the man off. This was too much, way too fast: panting lungs and a thudding heart assaulting his chest; incomprehensible words gusting against his throat; hands clawing at his back; and determined hips pushing an erection into his groin.

Breath held, he waited for the king to clear his throat—for firm hands to lever them apart. Nothing happened.

Oh. Well. He’d pretty-much decided that this was the next step, anyway. “Ray. Betrothed. Shhh. It’s alright. I’m not going anywhere. It’s alright.” The body was trembling irregularly in his arms, as if very cold. At the first pressure of Bodie’s arms, the prince’s grip had tightened convulsively, but then it eased, and the breathing slowed, and finally the words changed to English.

“You’re here. You’re here. Oh. Bodie.”

The prince’s hair smelled of kelp, his neck of some strange spice. Aftershave? Which implied no beard. Life had just got much better.

Finally: the throat-clearing. Not wanting to appear too eager, Bodie let the prince step away first, and then watched him turn to his father. “Thank you.” Bodie found the low, sincere words strangely affecting.

“Of course, I’ll fire any other chaperone who lets you do the same.” So dry, it had to be a form of defence. Had the words unsettled him too?

“Of course.” Back to Bodie. “And thank _you_.”

None of the possible polite responses seemed right and Bodie realised after a second that his best “my pleasure” smile was hidden behind the mask. He raised his hand to attempt the smile gesture, but instead found himself reaching out to grasp the tips of the brown-gloved fingers and give them a brief squeeze. Deep, deep undercover. “How you doing? Up to hefting books around?”

The prince’s body gave a slight shudder, and the bulge at his groin reached a new level of definition—clear enough for Bodie to wonder if there were _any_ physical differences between the two species. It took a few seconds for the reply: “Sure. Where d’you want to start?”

“Well. Finding some shelves?” The walls were all bare and blank.

The prince crossed over to the wall that separated their two cabins, the seating-area, his movements slow and careful—those trousers had been tight in the first place. “Over here do?”

“Fine.”

The wall was apparently not totally blank: the touch of a fingertip caused a small panel to swing open. A stab at a button, and the entire section of wall two feet either side of the panel moved slowly outward. Curious, Bodie started threading a path around the containers and the table.

The section was stationary again by the time he reached it—jutting out by a good four inches—and he could see space behind, and shelves. “You just pull it to the side.” The prince was hauling on the handle set inside the panel, and the section was sliding smoothly across. “And then press this button to lock it in place.”

“Clever.”

“There’s another one over there.” He pointed to the left. “And a couple in the other rooms. You’re supposed to slide it back and secure it when you’re not here. I can’t say I bother, but I haven’t got anything fragile. And I’ve never been on board when it’s been necessary.”

“How often is it necessary, then?”

“Malun?” Addressed to the king. Was that his actual name? Or was it their equivalent of “Dad”?

“It depends on the territory. How well we know it. This area’s pretty smooth.”

The door. Yet again. The king opened it and greeted the small, wiry man in their own language. The man stepped into the room, nodded and smiled at the betrothed couple, then settled himself on the couch and opened his carry-case with the air of someone who wasn’t going to let this interfere with his real work.

“Good. Then I’ll leave you two to organise the rest of your day.” The king left.

Bodie surveyed the containers, arms crossed.

“Do you want things in any particular order?”

“That’s what I’m trying to decide.”

The prince started to kneel. “Well, why don’t I just -” He broke off in mid-crouch, stayed frozen for some seconds, then rose slowly. “Um.” A jerky swallow. “I’ll be back. Soon.” He turned and walked to the door, even more measured and careful than before. Bodie started after him, only able to think of one reason for such an abrupt departure, but not really able to believe it. _He’s a prince, for God’s sake._ He shook his head sharply, and bent over the nearest container.

When the prince came back five minutes later, Bodie couldn’t help himself: he focused his eyes immediately on the man’s crotch. Oh, God. He’d been right. The guy _had_ rushed next door for an emergency wank. The book he’d been holding thudded to the deck. _Does he know I know?_ Stepping to pick the book up, he kicked it into the corner instead. Well done, Bodie. Very professional.

There was no comment or expression of concern over Bodie’s clumsiness, no explanation for the abrupt departure. Indeed, it was some time before the prince uttered anything beyond one-word questions and answers. He and Bodie were recovering their composure at about the same pace.

* * * * *

“Is this true, or is it made up?” Which must be the tenth time the prince had asked that question. He was reading the dust-jackets of the books before he put them on the shelves. This time it was August 1914.

“That one’s true as well. It’s about the build-up to the First World War.”

On to the shelf. “Do you not read fiction?”

“Yeah, but most of the stuff I read’s junk, and I don’t keep it. Still in the habit of travelling light.”

“Why d’you read junk?”

Because that’s all I’m fit for. Because I do most of my reading on stake-out or guard-duty and junk doesn’t get any worse when you have to look up and check the street between each paragraph. “You didn’t think you were getting an intellectual, did you? I suppose all of _your_ bodyguards have Ph.D.s.”

“I just wondered. And I only did the minimum of college myself.”

Which meant what? Ten years more education than Bodie had? “You did know I’m just a bodyguard?”

A chuckle. “Yeah. Inoni Sarai said your people spent the first five or ten minutes explaining that we must have misunderstood the social signifiers. Or something. They did everything but call you ‘cannon fodder’.” He must have seen Bodie’s twitch of reaction, since his voice immediately lost the tinge of amusement. “Of course, just talking to you, I knew you had to be something a bit more than that, and by that time we’d done some research on CI5 ourselves.”

“Then you know what I’m trained for. You got any nice wars back home?”

“Sorry.” A tilt of the head. “But I could start one if it would make you happy.”

“Yeah, I _bet_ you could.” The prince who always got what he wanted. A people who were oh, so considerate in their manner of being utterly, utterly ruthless. What an enemy.

* * * * *

“How do we put the pictures up?”

“If you want them up in here, then we’ll have to change the frames. We’ve got a type that sticks to the bulkheads.”

“And if I don’t want them up in here?”

“Then they’re fine as they are. We’ll just hammer a few more nails in the wall back home.”

“It’s a large flat, is it?”

“Not really. Smaller than this, I’d say.”

“Than this room? Or than the whole suite?”

“Than the suite. We can move, if you like. I’d always planned to when I got married.”

Well, just in case, Bodie would prefer a place with two bedrooms, and with locks on the bedroom doors. “You said the door to this suite wasn’t set to lock. Can we change that?”

“Now? Well, OK.”

The prince led the way to the control panel beside the door and talked Bodie through the sequence.

“What if I want to change the code number?” The prince had set a four-digit code, starting to teach Bodie their numbering-system as he did so—the system was Base 12, whatever that meant.

“It’s simplest to press this to unset the lock, and start from scratch like I just showed you.”

Bodie would be changing the code as soon as he was alone. “What about your door? Do you have the lock set?”

“I don’t bother. Only the family lives in this area, and no one would enter our territory without an invitation. Not if they want the ship to get home safely. And the sun to still be there when we arrive.”

“Do they -” Bodie swallowed hard. “Do they think you’re some kind of gods?”

“Oh, they know _we_ aren’t. As for the masks… Let’s just say that we’ve spent thousands of years not taking any chances where the masks are concerned.”

“Am I going to be expected to… learn about all this? To believe in it?” Oh, brilliant, Bodie. Start rubbishing their religion on your first day, why don’t you?

“Learn as much or as little as you like. You’re a Christian, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Though he hadn’t been to church since he was 14—apart from funerals.

“Oh!” The prince sounded shocked, and had raised his hand to the mask’s forehead. “We hadn’t - We’re taking you away from your priest. Is there anything we can do to -”

Bodie waved a hand dismissively. “I wouldn’t worry about it. No one’s ever had any doubts about which direction _my_ soul’s headed.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Relieved and chirpy. Behind the mask, Bodie’s lip curled.

“What about my stereo, then?” He’d turned away from the door. “You said you’d be able to rig something up.”

“What have you decided about the pictures?”

“I suppose they can wait.” He didn’t want any aliens messing about with the frames.

“Well, I know who to take your stereo to, but… Could you wait a few days? She’ll be glad of the challenge once we’re underway, but at the moment they’re up to here.”

“Yeah, I can wait. Should we leave it in the box? She won’t need all the records and tapes, though, will she?” They stacked those on the shelves, and that was Bodie’s unpacking finished.

“I’ll take this next door. Get it out of your way.” They hadn’t yet talked about shirts or ties. Tomorrow. Or any time in the next two months or fifty years.

When the prince came back, Bodie was still standing by the shelves. A yard apart, they looked at one another. Bodie wondered, not for the first time, what the prince was thinking. Didn’t he have even the slightest doubts about marrying someone he barely knew?

“I’ve been thinking… I’d better start learning your language as soon as possible. And how long have you been learning English, anyway?”

“Nearly two months.”

Bodie stared, then: “I don’t believe you.” A flat challenge.

“I don’t blame you. We’ve never come across any species with a language facility like ours. It’s one of the reasons we do so well at trade.”

“But…” Everyone’s going to think I’m retarded. I’ll _never_ fit in.

The dismay must have been clear in his voice. “I’m not saying we _all_ use it. My family’s at one end of the range. I don’t think you’ll find it that noticeable once we’re back home.”

“Hmm.” Not convinced. “We’d better start now, then.”

They moved over to the seating area. The chaperone looked up at their approach and he and the prince exchanged a few words. _It’s going to be pretty crowded on that couch._ Obviously Bodie wasn’t the only one with that thought: at the end of the exchange the chaperone stood up and took his carry-case over to the corner of the room to the right of the door, where a few seconds at another wall-panel produced a desk and a bench.

* * * * *

The first lesson lasted about an hour, which was all that Bodie could take. It was the prince who called a halt, possibly judged to the increasing edge in Bodie’s voice. Not that the teaching had been anything less than patient and matter-of-fact, but no matter how hard he’d tried, he had not picked up everything instantly and permanently. With the chaperone listening in, it would probably be all over the ship by tomorrow that the man the prince was marrying was stupid to the point of being untrainable.

“I suppose you’d be writing sonnets by now.”

“Not my style. I usually focus right in on the swear-words.”

Despite himself, Bodie gave a snort of laughter. Yes, he certainly felt like swearing. “Don’t you have any tapes I could learn from? Maybe in my sleep, even?”

“Well…” The prince scratched his head. “We do have recorded language-training, but not for our own language. No need for it. We could make some, though. It wouldn’t take long. Not for the basics, anyway. I’ll get onto it right away.”

You do that. “Please.”

The prince moved his right hand the few inches across the couch so that it rested against Bodie’s. Bodie glanced up at the chaperone, but the contact was either unseen or permitted. “I’m sorry.” Very quiet. “I know we’re making a mess of this. You’re being very patient. If it makes it any easier to bear, this is a first for us, too.”

“What is?”

“Meeting a species that’s so similar that we can…” The prince’s breathing was deepening. Without moving his head, Bodie flicked his eyes towards the crotch—yes, the erection was back. “That we’re compatible. If we’d thought it was possible, we might have had some plans in place.” The little finger flexed, stroking his once, twice. “Made those language tapes in advance.”

“Oh, it could be worse.” Breezy and mood-destroying. “Maybe we should give up on the lessons though.” Or I might start to hate you. “At least wait until I’ve got some way with the tapes.”

“OK. What do you feel like doing now?”

Bodie looked at his watch, which incidentally had the effect of breaking the contact between their hands. It was just past three in the afternoon. “What time is it as far as you’re concerned? And how long is your day?” They’d been keeping mid-Atlantic time during the negotiations, but that might just have been for human convenience.

“Around mid-day. Our day’s only about half an hour longer than yours. You shouldn’t have a problem adjusting. Are you hungry?”

“No. What about you? What times do you normally eat? And how do you manage with the masks? You said there was a galley.”

“I normally have something about now. But my appetite’s been strange since I first saw you. Body-chemistry shunting around—you know how it is. I’ll probably wake up starving in the middle of the night. What was the other question?”

“About the masks. Eating with the masks.”

“Oh, yes. Well, we either eat in our suites…” He counted the points off on his fingers. “… or we go to the galley as ourselves, or we use the mask-galley, although the choice of food’s smaller there.” At the mention of the mask-galley he’d gestured to the right, to the wall opposite the main door to the cabin.

“What’s the mask-galley?”

“There’s another corridor along there.” He pointed in the same direction. “Parallel to the public corridor. You get to it through the door in that wall—although the door’s hidden and locked at the moment since you’re not a full member of the family. The corridor leads to some communal areas that are strictly family-only, including a small galley. And there’s also a sort of secret entrance to the rest of the ship. So you use the main door -” The one to the public corridor, that Bodie seemed to have spent half the day opening. “- when you’re in your mask, and the hidden one when you’re yourself.”

“But since I can’t use the secret door, and your father told me to keep my mask on all the time, I can’t eat in either galley. Which means I have to eat here.”

“Yeah. You can collect food from the main galley, though. Or I’ll see what’s on the menu and bring you whatever you want.”

Bodie was almost looking forward to the wedding. “Do you have people lining up wanting to marry into the family? Is this betrothal business a way of weeding out those who can’t cope with the… restrictions?”

“Everyone has to go through the betrothal, whether they’re in the family or not, but you’re right, it is worse if you’re marrying into the family.” A pause, then quietly: “Would you have thought twice if you’d known exactly what was involved?”

It seemed to be a sincere question, but of course there was only one permitted answer, which Bodie made as low and deep as possible. “Of course not.” His turn, now, to move his hand across the couch. “I might sound as if I’m complaining, but don’t take any notice. I know why I’m here.” He saw the expected effect between the prince’s legs—which was then echoed between his own for various reasons, none of them fit to be examined.

“Did you - When you imagined who you’d marry, was he like me?”

Bodie had to bite his lips hard to stop himself from laughing. How could they have learned so much about Earth, and still have missed something so basic? While he was waiting until his voice could be relied upon, he slid his hand halfway on top of the prince’s, and worked on immersing himself in the role of Bodie-the-besotted—which had its value as amusement, as well as for survival.

“No. Not really. But then you’re hard to imagine, Ray. Those arms. That walk. You can only believe it when you see it, when you feel what it’s doing to you. Can’t you -” He swallowed, excited by his first feeling of control in a day of helplessness. “- unlock that secret door? Who would know if you visited me during the night? We could keep our masks on—that would make it alright, wouldn’t it?” There was always a danger that the prince would jump at his suggestion, but he’d have to cope with that sooner or later, and he’d never been one to procrastinate.

“I -” Abruptly, the prince stood, and turned towards Bodie. This put his groin directly in front of Bodie’s face, and Bodie looked his fill, not raising his head even when the prince resumed speaking. “I’ve got some books in English next door. That I read on the trip out. Dunno how many are junk, but I’ll fetch them anyway.”

“That’d be great.”

With a few words directed to the chaperone, and his body directed away, the prince left. Bodie wandered over to the shelves. Actually, he could do with some junk to read—and where was Cowley with his shopping list? There were a couple of books on the shelves he’d been saving for a rainy week on standby, but in the short-term, his concentration was shot to pieces.

The prince was quicker than last time—more charge now to his fantasies?—and had a stack of ten or more paperbacks balanced against his chest. Bodie took a handful off him, and they walked back to the seating-area side-by-side.

“There’s more in the library. These are just the last batch I read.”

They were all modern: a mixture of English, American and Australian. Bodie had only read one of them, though he’d heard of about half from reading the papers every day.

“Which one did you like best?”

“Um.” The prince sifted through the pile then picked out The Day of the Jackal. “It’s an exciting story, and I could understand it without having to look at Anthropology’s cultural files every paragraph. Is it junk?”

“Well, let’s just say I’ve read it.” They laughed. “What’s this one like?” Bodie was holding Titus Groan by Mervyn Peake.

Dryly: “It’s a contact party’s nightmare. I don’t know how it slipped through—they’re usually good at screening out fantasy. Had me very confused. I didn’t finish it once I’d realised, but I’d be interested to know how it reads to a native.”

“What sort of fantasy? Magic and…?”

“It’s about a strange kingdom that’s governed by rituals. Insane family at the top -” Bodie wondered if they wore masks. “- and there’s an outsider working his way up.”

“I’ll give it a try.” He settled back on the couch to study the cover and read the blurb.

“Can I borrow one of yours?”

“Go ahead.”

The prince stood up. “What do you recommend?”

Did he have anything on heroic undercover operations? Not that he could think of. And best avoid anything that might make them think twice about setting up in Britain. “What about August 1914? It’s not the most recent history, but it’s far from forgotten, either.”

“OK.” He took it from the shelf and rejoined Bodie. It looked as if they’d made up their minds what they were going to do next.

* * * * *

They read steadily for the next hour, with occasional questions from the prince—leading to comments on comparable situations on other planets—and laughter from Bodie—leading to quotation and laughter (usually) from the prince. Bodie kept wishing he had a mug of tea, but apart from that was almost enjoying himself.

“Bodie.” It was a whisper. Bodie had been expecting it—or something like it—since the prince hadn’t spoken or turned a page in the last ten minutes.

“Yeah?” Just as quiet.

“I can’t come to you at night. I _want_ to. You know I want to. But Udom Kol wouldn’t do it. I’ve been trying to convince myself that he would, but… We’ll have to control ourselves. I’m sorry.”

“Does Udom Kol matter for this because you wear him, or would it be the same even if you weren’t in the family?”

“It would be the same. The one who makes the offer is always Udom Kol—the other is always Embrun. We have to do the right thing, take it as slowly as we can. Especially in our case. It’s common sense and it’s… a sacred trust, I suppose you’d say.”

Bodie had never come close to saying anything like that, but he knew you can’t argue with religion. “I shouldn’t have suggested it.” Was he going to have to give up flirting with him? Going to have to get more subtle, anyway.

“Oh, you wouldn’t be the first. No one ever suggested a proper betrothal was easy. Reading between the lines, by the time Udom Kol and Embrun finally got through, he must have been just a heap of skin and bones—with a towering erection on top.” A brief chuckle.

Drained dry by how many emergency wanks? “So do people break the rules?”

“Oh, they must do.” The prince had stopped whispering now. “But they don’t admit to it. And of course most couples know each other for years before they get betrothed, they know exactly what’s in store. We haven’t always been this strict, either. It goes through phases, varies from place to place. Same as on Earth. But even knowing that it’s not carved in stone -” He pressed his fist over his heart. “- it’s important to me. More than I realised before.”

“OK.” Self-denial. Loyalty to an abstraction. Bodie didn’t understand it, but he felt a certain admiration. “To change the subject…” He glanced at his watch. “The shops in England will be closing soon, and I’m wondering what’s happening with the list of supplies I gave to Cowley. Are they going to have everything by the time we leave tomorrow?”

“Do you want to see Mister Cowley?”

“I think he’ll have organised the details with Inoni Sarai, but I’m not sure.”

“I’ll ask Malun, then.” He went over to the comms panel, Bodie following. It was a short exchange. “They’ll page him.”

“While we’re waiting, could you show me how to work this oven?” Bodie had stepped into the kitchen. “And anything else I should know about in here.”

“The controls are all -” The tone was “just read the sodding instructions”. “Oh. Right. I should probably write this down for you.” He started opening and closing drawers, presumably looking for paper and a pencil—or some equivalent. “I’ll do that later. D’you know what you want to cook first? I can set things up for you.”

Bodie opened the fridge and brought out the lasagne. “Did you go to Marks and Sparks yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“With the mask? How did people react?”

“No. As myself.” Was that a hint of impatience? Or was he annoyed at himself for forgetting that Bodie couldn’t read? He had searched the lasagne for instructions, and was now holding it up so he could see the bottom. “Two hundred—that converts to…” A turn of one control. “And that would be about…” And another. “To start the oven you press -” He was interrupted by a buzzing from the comms panel, which he responded to immediately.

The conversation was not in English. Bodie thought he recognised the odd word—mostly “Yes” and “No”. Why not English? How did they decide what to speak?

“It _is_ underway. I’m going to go down and check for myself. It’ll be coming up by shuttle.”

“You’re going right now?”

“I thought I would. Is that a problem?”

“Not if you can stay long enough to show me which button on the oven.”

The prince showed him, then called over to the chaperone. The two aliens left together, the prince pausing in the doorway to say he’d be along to report as soon as he got back.

Bodie stared at the closed door, wondering what had happened. A moody little sod, indeed. Well, he was alone now—time to change the locks.

* * * * *

He took the mask off but not the gloves, and pressed buttons in the kitchen until he’d got enough boiling water to make a mug of tea. But the book just seemed a self-indulgent mass of detail now. Maybe it had only seemed funny when he was imagining the aliens treating it as fact. After a page his eyes started closing, and after another page he gave up and let gravity and sleep pull him down.

It was a deep sleep, with no dreams that he was aware of. He woke cleanly, knowing immediately where he was—if with a strangely-sharp awareness of the parallel corridors on either side. Was it because he was feeling boxed-in? Or because everyone on the ship except him seemed to have something to do, somewhere to go? Bodie: surplus-royal extraordinaire.

He checked his watch: nearly half-past six. Was he hungry? Moderately. Into the kitchen to press the button the prince had showed him, and to get a beer.

A whole half-hour to wait. This was worse than a stake-out. Hell, it was practically solitary confinement. He didn’t want to be looking forward to the prince’s return, but he was. Was this part of their plan?

Go for an appetite-raising stroll? Nice idea but… What if the prince came back and found him gone? What grade of wobbly would he throw? They’d probably send security-guards to hunt him down and bring him back in a net. And then lock the door from the outside for the rest of the trip. Mustn’t upset the prince.

Should’ve brought some cards. In his mind’s-eye he saw the pack in the top-left drawer of the dresser, and he swore. Should’ve got a newspaper. No. Not today. Not with the PM telling the world how Britain was the inevitable choice.

Did these people have TV? Films? What did they do for entertainment? Learn a new language, probably. Draw up the papers for their espresso franchise. Speculate about the family (of _course_ they did, whatever the king said).

He lay down and tried to doze—the only method available for killing time. There were brief dreams—or persistent sequences of images—but it still seemed more like an hour before a high-pitched pinging noise announced that his lasagne was ready.

The prince had got his conversions right. At first, Bodie just put the container on a plate—as he would have done at home—but in this place it looked suddenly very sad. If the prince came back when he was in the middle of eating, would the sight make him think, “Here’s a no-nonsense bloke.”? Eventually, maybe, after the instinctive stab of pity. He decanted the lasagne.

The desk was still in place in the corner and he ate at that. Did the suite have a proper dining area? Was this it? What was their food going to be like? Was he going to be able to eat it?

_Oh, shit!_ No. No, it wouldn’t be poisonous to him. Surely not. They were too similar. And they’d coped with everything that had been served at the evening buffets. They must’ve done some tests—checked it all out beforehand. Yes. They must’ve.

But he should ask, as soon as the prince got back. If they’d just “assumed”… It couldn’t be in their plans to have him die of a reaction to their equivalent of the potato in the first week out. What good would that do anyone? The prince would be unmanageable—or so Bodie flattered himself. Britain might even do something drastic in protest—like charging them rent, or not inviting them to the next garden-party.

He couldn’t find anything that looked like washing-up liquid, so he just ran some water in the basin and left the plate to soak. Was a dirty plate sadder than eating out of the container? The debate could continue indefinitely.

Fresh beer in hand, he started pacing the room. Bedroom still there. Books still on the shelves, all too familiar or too strange. He lined his lead soldiers up at an angle to the right. Then to the left. Then flicked them over one by one. Oh, dear.

Fuck this. Time for some serious exploring. Punch every button that’s on offer.

After a few seconds he succeeded in unlocking the wall-section that had covered his shelves, then pulled it over, and got it to slide back and relock. Hah! Now, the prince had said there was another further over to the left…

It was immediately to the left of the shelves, a mirror-image of the other—or so it seemed until the space behind was revealed. It appeared he’d found the TV: there was a screen at waist-level, with controls to the side. Underneath it, at knee-level, was a drawer-unit whose top should take the stereo comfortably.

He made his way methodically through the controls, wishing for that pad of paper and pencil. Maybe the prince was out shopping for one. When the screen did come to life, it was smooth and instantaneous: no pop or crackle, no gradual brightening. It was also very boring, with no pictures at all. A status read-out, maybe? A list of chaperone duties?

This couldn’t be all that was on offer. The next three controls he tried had no effect, but the fourth produced a change: still text-only, but different text. The fifth: different text again. The sixth: a picture!  And a picture he recognised: the Earth from space. As he watched, it was replaced by one in which… yes, the English-speaking countries were highlighted. Then there were graphs, and arrows between countries and continents. Was there a voice-over? He tried the next control, and found the screen filled with five heads, apparently having a meeting. Was this happening now? Back to the previous control… but that channel was now another meeting, this time with three people. And again…

Good God, it was Eastenders. Or the credits, anyway. In English, beautiful English. A check at his watch showed him the timing was right. As he watched, the credits ended, there was a trailer for the evening’s film (Duel), and then the title sequence started for A Question of Sport. Yes! But where was the frigging sound?

It must be one of the earlier controls. Anyway, he wasn’t touching anything in this bottom area in case he lost the channel for good. No. No. No. N- Hang on. Was it his imagination or was that a whisper above his head? Try the previous one again. No. The one before that then. He’d found it. God, he was clever.

He settled himself on the couch with his beer, and was soon noisily involved in the quiz game. A substantial portion of his brain lost its awareness of the strangeness of the situation—he’d spent weeks of his life on duty in 5-star hotels just like this.

It was gone eight when the prince returned, and the film had just started. Bodie remembered the mask just in time, with his finger poised over the Open button. _Must remember to stick a note to the door_. The chaperone was the same man as before.

“Took longer than I expected. Your Cowley passed the list to the Foreign Office who passed it to Trade and Industry. Who had given it some code-number which -”

“So it’s basically been forgotten about?”

“No, it’s nearly finished, but it took us a while to realise we were talking about the same thing. It was the books that were the clue: the entire Military History department of Foyles, and every top-ten bestseller of the last ten years.”

“What did they make of the Military History? Research for an invasion?”

“They did try to sound me out. I just told them it was a particular interest of our chief anthropologist, and we wouldn’t be offended if they did some censoring. What’s that you’re - Oh, who set your screen up for you? Did Inoni Sarai call in?”

“No one. I figured it out myself. It’s a film.”

“Any good?”

“Supposed to be. It’s just started.” A pause in which Bodie decided to do the right thing. “D’you want to join me?”

Brief conference with the chaperone, then: “Yeah, thanks.”

As before, they settled on the couch with the chaperone at the desk—Bodie now discovered that there was a computer console inside the desk-top, or at least a hinged screen that flipped up, and something in front of it that involved the rapid use of the hands.

“What’s happened so far?”

Bodie dragged his attention away from the desk. “A man’s driving across the States and a truck-driver is out to get him. He doesn’t realise it yet—they’ve only just met.”

“Why?”

“Dunno. Doesn’t like his face? We might find out later.”

Over the next few minutes the prince asked some more questions about the plot, then seemed happy just to watch. They both got engrossed during the next major encounter with the truck, to judge by indrawn breaths and mutterings.

“What channel’s this?”

“BBC2.”

“So there’s no break coming. You know, I think Haden -” He nodded towards the desk. “- would enjoy this too, and I have the impression this is about as much dialogue as we’re going to get. D’you mind if I invite him over?”

Bodie shrugged. “Go ahead.”

The prince called across. Haden looked interested, then nodded and came over to the one-person seat to Bodie’s right. Simultaneously, Bodie and the prince stood up and made to swap places so that the prince could provide a translation; they sorted themselves out efficiently after the collision, and by the time of the next encounter all three were ready and waiting.

* * * * *

It was a great success. While the credits were rolling, Haden gesticulated enthusiastically to both of them, obviously very impressed with the truck’s dive over the cliff. Bodie felt thoroughly proud to be human.

“What about yourselves? Do you have films or anything?”

“Oh, yeah. They’ve been very… symbolic recently, though. And I get enough of that at home. Pure story’s a real relief.”

“Suppose it would be.”

They continued talking about the film until Bodie noticed that the next program had started and it was a documentary about the re-housing of slum-dwellers in the 50s. Maybe the prince would be impressed by the progressive social policy, or maybe he would be horrified by both Before and After pictures. Either way, Bodie had no intention of sitting through it with him.

“Does this thing get any other channels?”

“Sure. What d’you want to watch?”

“Can we see what’s on?”

The prince went over to the controls and Bodie followed, wanting instructions. It was a menu system, apparently, which didn’t help him, since he couldn’t read the choices. BBC1 had an extended Newsnight, ITV had news too, and Channel 4 had a gardening program. Obviously they were going to have to fall back on conversation. Off with the screen.

In the sudden silence, the prince’s stomach rumbled. Bodie, disbelieving, would have attributed it to the air-conditioning, but the hand rapidly pressed to royal abdomen confirmed it.

“Haven’t you eaten?”

“No. I just meant to call in with the good news and then go to the galley, but…”

“Which galley?”

“Ours.” An inclination of the head towards the secret corridor. “It’s closest.”

“They’ll all be asking about me, won’t they?” Bodie’s jaw was jutting.

Mildly: “If there’s anyone there. Half the ship’s still out shopping. You might not get to meet them till tomorrow night.”

“I’m not in the mood to meet half the ship.”

“Mmm. I wouldn’t have pegged you as shy.”

“I am not. Fucking. Shy.” A positive snarl, as Bodie realised once it was out, and the prince’s body tensed. He closed his eyes hard, and tried to summon Bodie-the-besotted. “Well. Maybe I am. I’m used to privacy. And I’m still… self-conscious about… ‘us’. Can’t quite believe it’s happening.”

A quick touch to the back of his hand. “I know. We can keep it just you and me for as long as you like.”

“How are - What do they think of you marrying an alien? I’d have thought they’d have… other plans for you.” Part probing of motives, part sheer, driven curiosity.

The prince looked away and down, then back. “Um. They were very discouraging at first. I have to admit. Thought I should…” A painful swallow. “… force a halt. So I stayed away.” Those days he vanished from the team. “Tried to turn it around. But it kept on and when they saw that… Well, Malun started arguing that it _could_ work.” And then he was back, talking to Bodie during the breaks.

“What about the rest?”

“No one will give you a hard time. They might be more nervous of you than anything. You’ve changed some of our ideas about ourselves, you see—about our biology, our relationship to one another. I bumped into a couple of the other members of the family in the offices earlier and they were both painfully earnest. But since _you’ve_ never been painfully earnest in your _life_  - Have you?”

Bodie shrugged, then shook his head. Maybe he had. But now he definitely knew that he liked the prince.

“Well, they’ll get over that soon enough. And as for privacy -” He was interrupted by his own digestive system. “Oh. I’m sorry, I -”

“Go and get something to eat. Now.”

“You trying to get rid of me?” The tone was playful, as if finding reassurance in Bodie’s bossiness.

“Nope. I need you to come back and help me stay awake until it’s your night-time.”

“OK. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

The prince was already out of the room before Bodie remembered the chaperone. They looked at one another, then the chaperone smiled and got to his feet while pointing at the desk. Bodie nodded, and made a “go ahead” gesture.

After a visit to the bathroom to empty his bladder, he sat down and opened the book, and immediately realised that he’d forgotten to ask what testing they’d done with foods. In the absence of a notepad: imagine the prince’s head as a giant potato, too large to fit through the door; and imagine him wedged in the doorway holding a giant notepad and pencil. Duly imagined. There, that should ensure that the two most urgent issues got raised as soon as the man came back.

So what was Udom Kol telling the rest of the family? Strangely, the question hardly bothered him now. He trusted the prince—and he knew it was stupid, trusting a man whose face he’d never even seen. But he also knew—at some deeper level—that he, William Bodie, had now displaced the family in the prince’s loyalties. If it was a choice between Bodie’s peace of mind and the family’s curiosity, then the prince would make the right choice.

In itself, that was reassuring, but it had implications that might even be more disturbing than gossiping in-laws. Implications Bodie didn’t want to think about right now. But did he really want to be married to some selfish, unprincipled bastard? No, but… it might have made some things a lot simpler.

_When will he expect me to tell him that I love him?_ He felt sick, with a dull pain at the top of his gullet.

Don’t think about it. Read the book.

He couldn’t. He was too tired to cope with another alien world. All those characters. He put it down and picked up the history book instead, losing the prince’s place in order to start with the introduction.

* * * * *

The prince took less than twenty minutes. When Bodie opened the door, his subconscious obligingly supplied the potato and other accessories.

“No, hang on. I’ve thought of a couple of questions.” He counted them off on his fingers. “What have you done to make sure I can eat your food without getting poisoned? And can you get me some paper and a pencil? Or whatever you use.”

“Well, we’ve…” A long pause. “You don’t really think you’d get poisoned, do you?”

“How would I know?”

“But that’s -” Bodie saw the larynx shifting, and then the prince seemed to go weak at the knees, seeking the support of the wall behind him. “I have to talk to Malun.” He fumbled for the comms panel.

A sharp question from the chaperone, who had left the desk and was nearly upon them, directing a look at Bodie that was far from friendly. Even so, Bodie could only feel sympathy for the man when, five seconds later, the prince was still spitting cold venom at him.

“Hey. Hey.” He grasped the tense shoulders, persuaded them into stillness against the wall. “R-  Betrothed. He was just doing his job. All I’m saying is we ought to check. That’s all. Go on. Call your father. He’ll tell you there’s no problem.” He released his grip and stepped back.

“But if -” A deep, uneven breath. “Yes. He should still be in the galley. I’ll…” A few words into the comms panel revealed that the king was indeed still in the galley.

“So what did he say?”

“He’ll be here immediately.”

“He didn’t say, ‘Well, of course we tested everything.’?”

The prince just shook his head, but sharply enough that the mask couldn’t keep up, and Bodie heard the soft slap of the collision: once, twice, three times.

“Come on, come and sit down. You’re still shaky, aren’t you?” Leading him gently by the upper arm, and meeting no resistance. “And don’t you think you should apologise to our chaperone? Or he’ll refuse to sit with us again.” The man was back at the desk, jaw clenched as he concentrated fiercely on the screen.

“He doubted you.” No apology this year, obviously.

“His job, remember?”

Silence. Having sat the prince, Bodie stood behind the couch looking down at him. Rich brown curls. He’d always liked curls, especially on men. Yes, they were as silky as they looked. His fingers lingered and explored, stroking down to the nape of the neck. An even, baked-biscuit tan—if “tan” was what they did. Firm skin, surprisingly soft. The chaperone seemed still determined to ignore them. The prince sighed, and pushed back with his head.

The door. The king went straight over to sit by the prince and they started an intense conversation which eventually caught the chaperone’s attention. Ignored, Bodie took the long route to the far seat with exaggerated slowness.

Interrupt? Or wait for it to work itself out? _”What’s going on?”_ He’d asked that enough today. They didn’t even notice when he reached in front of them to pick up the book.

After about five minutes the two royals had both settled down to planning, with an undertone of determination. Then, decisive, the prince stood up and took a step towards the door. A word from the king, and they both turned to look at Bodie, who, despite himself, had been watching. “Do you have a reaction to any of _your_ foods?” That was the prince.

_Who, me?_ “No.”

A nod, and the prince was gone. Bodie shrugged and went back to his book. An unstable romantic—but was there any other kind?

“He’s gone to contact Mister Cowley. To arrange for your colleagues to do a tasting at a hospital.”

“Right now?”

“If possible.”

“And what then?”

A sigh. “He refuses to think about that. Not that things need be particularly complicated. He could simply stay here. He’s not qualified for any position at the base, but we could start him as an apprentice.”

_Stay on Earth?_ The king had suggested the idea so casually. “If it’s so -” If Lucas or someone was allergic to that potato, then he’d be able to stay home. Would CI5 still take him, though, with his husband in tow? Could get grim. Very grim. And not just with CI5. “Would the rest of you still leave tomorrow, in that case? Don’t you have to be at the wedding?”

“We’d have to change our plans.”

_Would you change them anyway? If I asked?_ He opened his mouth and came so, so close to asking. But it was too dangerous. He wasn’t prepared to discuss his state of mind with the king: wanting to stay because he was frightened of the unknown; and wanting to leave because he was frightened of the known.

“How long d’you think he’ll be?”

“About half an hour to see if we can set it up right now, I think. And then maybe an hour to arrange our samples, and another hour or so for the tasting. But that might have to wait until tomorrow.”

“So you hadn’t thought of this at all?”

A shifty-looking shrug was Bodie’s only answer.

* * * * *

“How bad was he this time? Compared to how he reacted over the gloves?” Bodie had finally given up the pretence of reading.

“Better. Much more controlled. More intense, maybe, which is - You just seem resigned at the moment. Is that how it takes you? More depressed than manic? Makes for a quiet life, at least.” It seemed a reply wasn’t expected. Bodie just nodded and bent again over the book, frowning at the suggestion that he might ever be one of those depressed types.

The prince contacted them shortly after that via the comms panel. The tasting was going ahead immediately. It was nearly 10.30 in Britain, but Bodie had good reason to know that meant nothing when you worked for CI5. It was a very brief conversation.

“Isn’t there anything I can do to help?”

“No. He doesn’t want you involved in this in any way. I think he imagines you being fatally poisoned just by being in the same room. I didn’t argue. I remember what his mother was like at this stage.”

“Are you going down?”

“I don’t seem to be needed. He knows what he’s doing. I do have work to do, though. I should get back to it.” He stood up. “Do you want company, or…?” Looking towards the chaperone.

“I hate being waited with.”

A few words from the king and the chaperone was folding the computer away. His manner was brisk, and his expression uninformative. Bodie wondered what excuse he’d have tomorrow. Suddenly Bodie made his decision and joined the king by the door.

“Piura thiet. That’s ‘I’m sorry’, isn’t it?”

“Close enough.”

A nod, and Bodie moved to intercept the chaperone. Was that a flicker of alarm in the man’s eyes? “Piura thiet.”

Surprise and then a broad smile. “Thank you.” Ah. So he’d had an English lesson while the prince was chasing Bodie’s shopping list. But it seemed they’d both reached their limits—this situation couldn’t be in the Beginner’s Textbook, even for the Hailin—and a nod on either side ended the conversation.

On his own once more, he tried the TV again—stuck with BBC2 since he couldn’t remember what the prince had done to get the other channels. They were showing a silent film, of all things, set in Mongolia (maybe). He was about to turn it off when a shimmering waterfall of light caught his eye: a hunter displaying the world’s most beautiful wolf-pelt to a trader. He wanted to see that pelt again. He sat down.

* * * * *

Well, that took him past midnight and at the end he still didn’t know what the film was called or what country had made it. BBC2 closed down for the night and Bodie shut the screen off.

It was still only around nine, ship’s time. Only 27 hours since he’d got the summons to see Cowley. Was every day with the family going to be like this?

He yawned widely, put his hand up to his mouth, and realised that he was still wearing the mask. Impossible to think that he’d got used to it.

Time for some coffee. More than time. He placed the mask at the foot of the door—a reminder in the continuing absence of that notepad.

The cafetière was in the cupboard above the water-boiler, the coffee next to it. For the first time, he wondered who had cleaned it that morning when he was in his flat packing. The king?

Biscuits. Has the prince got him any biscuits? Did these people have chocolate?

Ah, he’d forgotten that they’d been spying on him at the buffet. There was a large drawer filled almost to capacity: all from Marks and Spencers, most containing chocolate. He took the pack of Florentines, kicked off his shoes, and stretched out on the couch with August 1914.

* * * * *

When the prince came to the door it was nearly 2 a.m., and Bodie had been definitely asleep for over half an hour—definitely enough to have left a trail of saliva on the cushion. He stumbled to the door without putting his shoes on, remembering with each step a few more of the details of his life that were dependent on the news the prince was bringing him. A grunt as he bent to pick up the mask, and a quick and pointless attempt to smooth his hair before he put the mask on and opened the door.

The prince had brought the king this time. “So what happened?” He couldn’t tell anything from their body-language.

“We found a few things that you’ll probably spit straight back out. And a few more that your stomach will probably reject after a minute. But nothing worse.”

“Oh, good.” A huge yawn, which he instinctively tried to cover with his hand, forgetting about the mask yet again. “So what time do we leave tomorrow?”

“Midday ship-time at the earliest.”

“OK.” Another yawn. “Shall we meet to pick out breakfast? Or will you be busy?”

“No. Let’s do that. I’ll collect you at nine. D’you know how to work the shower?”

“I’ll figure it out. See you.” A vague wave and he staggered off towards the bedroom, leaving them to let themselves out.


	4. Chapter 3

## Chapter 3

The first time he woke it was around five, ship-time. He’d slept as if drugged, with the difference that his woken mind cleared within seconds. A shame. He could have done with a few more thought-free hours.

So, Bodie, what’s the verdict?

If I can just get through the boredom, I can do it, I think. Or… I can find a way of making it bearable for myself. Whether that’ll give his royal highness what he wants… We’ll have to see.

Wonder what he thinks of me so far?

Rude. Touchy. Does he reckon I’m depressed, like the king? Poor, romantic little sod. I wouldn’t want to marry me. Whatever he’s got, he’s got it bad.

Wonder what he was thinking of when he was jerking off?

His hips twitched, and his cock started to fill. Behind his closed eyelids, he had a vivid picture of the prince with his trousers down round his knees, gloved hands wrapped around a big erection.

What do men do to each other here?

It hadn’t been just a line: the prince did have fine strong arms. And a walk that fired the imagination. The veins stood out very clearly on his forearms, running along and over the lengths of muscle. Bodie liked that, had always found it sexy in a man. It made him think of the veins on a hard, throbbing cock.

Did the prince want to bugger him? Did he imagine Bodie spread open, panting for alien cock up his arse? Well, of course he did. And it would be a relatively easy way of keeping him happy. Straightforward, anyway. Bodie’s body was well-trained, generally obedient. He could rely on it to do the right thing, whatever he was feeling.

It suddenly occurred to him that he’d missed an opportunity the last time the royals came to the door. The prince churned up with hours of adrenaline. The king relieved to be back on plan. Both vulnerable. He should have moved in for a celebratory grope, murmured concerned nothings in his betrothed’s ear. That would have earned him a few points. Still, it might not be too late.

How badly _had_ he behaved yesterday? The prince didn’t seem to mind, was so far gone he would probably forgive or excuse anything. But the king… He had to be sizing Bodie up. Giving support, yes, but it couldn’t be indefinite. What would happen if he decided that Bodie wasn’t making enough effort to please the prince? Would he be sent home, or would he be taken off for some persuading? Apart from the morning’s tantrum, he’d done OK, hadn’t he? And what the hell had got into him, to act like that with these people?

His sexual arousal had subsided. Too much thinking—always distracting. Of course, if he concentrated he could get it back, but his current fantasies rather involved being back on Earth, having a life of his own and he could tell immediately that none of them were going to work.

I wonder if they have porn. Wonder what type he likes. Kinky? You hear about these decadent royals.

Or maybe they’re protected half-to-death. He said they’re strict. Have they kept him a virgin? He seems frustrated enough.

No. Not with a walk like that.

_He wants to fuck me. There’s a man next door who wants to fuck me._ The arousal was back. _And his family has decided to arrange it for him._

Why marriage, though? Unless that’s part of his kink. Which would imply… Previous husbands. Used up. Gone.

Oh, don’t be stupid. It’s the 5 a.m. horrors speaking.

But… There had to be _some_ reason why they hadn’t just delivered him naked to the prince’s cabin on Day Four. Kept him there till Day Seven, or whatever. Cowley would have made it sound like any other assignment. Oh, God. The idea was powerfully sexy even when he was this close to the reality. Would the prince have kept his mask on? Probably.

He grunted and shoved his Y-fronts out of the way, imagining the masked face sizing him up first thing on Day Four, the fingers reaching out to touch him. No gloves. No, you wouldn’t wear gloves with a mere amusement. Just that, the idea of the prince’s naked fingers pushing between his thighs, was enough to take him to the stage where touch alone would finish it.

* * * * *

He fell asleep afterwards, and when he next woke it was nearly seven. If he had forgotten what he’d thought and done, the position of his Y-fronts and the state of his T-shirt would have reminded him. He blushed fiercely, yet knew that it was very likely that he would do much the same again.

So. How did the horrors look at 7 a.m.?

Much the same, unfortunately. It _was_ possible: a prince with a kink for husband-killing. He’d already decided that the prince was insane, and nothing on earth said that it had to be a gentle form. On earth? These people weren’t human—who could know their limits? And even with humans… Things had been imagined. Things had been done.

Maybe they encouraged him to take aliens. It would reduce problems at home. But they’d said that Bodie was the first, hadn’t they? Had they lied, or…

Oh, come on, 3.7. You don’t believe this. _Don’t want to believe it._ It’s not so long since you were getting in a sweat over the fact that you trust him, that you come first for him. You like him.

But psychopaths were supposed to be charming, weren’t they? And these manic episodes… Wouldn’t that kind of killer go frantic once in a while at the prospect of the sacrifice to come? Wouldn’t that kind of killer consider himself in love with the victim?

It made more sense than anything else at the moment. Bodie’s heart was pounding, and sweat had broken out all over his body.

No. No. This was ridiculous. He threw back the covers and stepped out of bed, pulling his T-shirt off in the same movement. A mug of tea. Some chocolate. Everything would look different then.

There was no window. He wanted a window. He wanted to make faces at next door’s contemptuous cat. He wanted to see early sunlight on Albert Bridge—or at least know whether or not it was raining.

He put the TV on with the sound down. An educational program, by the look of things. A tour around a farm. It would have to do as a window.

The bed would be clammy with fear, and he’d spent quite enough time on the couch recently. After a slow circuit of the room, he decided on the floor and sat cross-legged with his back against the chair. The tea was not making a dramatic difference to his frame of mind.

If he was intended as a sacrifice, what then? Could he save himself? Or could he only hope to go down fighting?

To save himself… Once they left orbit he was lost. So he’d have to tell them that he wanted to stay on Earth—though that idea made him feel sick as well. And if he thwarted the prince—on Earth, on their planet, or anywhere in between… what sort of revenge would the family take?

“Oh, Christ!” He buried his face in his hands.

But if they were _really_ like that… then Earth would never be safe, no matter how many sacrifices were sent out. You could not make deals with the insane. Which meant that Earth needed a diagnosis right now. From William Bodie. Qualifications: a certificate for swimming 200 yards, and a pilot’s license. He had met more than his fair share of nutters, though.

He needed to see the prince alone. Circumvent the polite chit-chat. Supposedly the door to his cabin was never locked. Bodie could creep in, catch the man asleep.

* * * * *

What was the chance of being stopped in the corridor, and what could he do to reduce that chance? In the end he decided to wear the gloves and mask throughout: this should give him the freedom, as near-family, to do whatever the hell he chose in family territory; and it seemed unlikely that any passer-by would insist on checking that there was a chaperone waiting inside the prince’s cabin.

Of course, the corridor was empty. The door opened immediately, showing that the prince had told the truth in that matter, at least.

The living-area was practically in darkness, lit only by a dim strip of blue at waist-level that widened as it reached the door. A guide for evacuation, presumably. He hadn’t seen this feature in his own cabin, having left the main lights on as he’d found them—one of the reasons he’d been wide awake at five.

Even when his eyes had adjusted, he could only see the faint outline of shapes: the counters in the kitchen, the seating-area, shelves. The design seemed to be identical to his own, not even a mirror image. He followed the wall around to the right, walking and listening with care, as he’d been trained.

The door to the bedroom was closed. Bodie stood with his hand poised over the Open button for at least ten seconds, hearing the joints in his jaw and neck creaking like a rope-bridge over a ravine. The pop and hiss of the opening door was an anti-climax: only a single magnum of champagne being uncorked, not a wedding’s-worth.

The same dim blue lighting. It was some seconds before he could even see the shape in the bed, let alone determine how soundly it was sleeping. Soundly. The long, deep breaths continued unchanged. Bodie took a step into the room.

The prince was lying on his side, half of his face buried in the pillow, and the rest obscured by hair and a shielding arm. A sharp line where the texture changed showed that he was wearing his gloves, even in bed. The mask was face-up on the cabinet by the bed, a third presence in the room.

Closer. Closer. Bodie started to get an impression of smooth curves, though the tight, gleaming curls took most of the light.

Suddenly, the body jerked, then tensed. At the movement, Bodie had taken a step back, then he was still too. He held his breath, feeling the judder of his pulse grow stronger with each beat, and counted forty pulses before he was forced to exhale.

The prince sat up in a quick, smooth movement and looked directly at him, then said something in his own language that sounded like a question. A gleam of eyes and the impression again of neatly-flowing curves. The shoulders… To Bodie’s imagination, the shoulders promised even more than the forearms. There was no sign at all of fear: there will be a reasonable explanation for this, and you will give it to me now.

“It’s Bodie.”

A gasp, and the right hand shot out for the mask while the left was shielding the averted face. Once masked: “What are you - I thought I’d explained why - You have to leave. Now. Immediately.”

Bodie stayed where he was. He now realised that he had not formed any real plan for this confrontation. How did you go about tripping a psychopath into revealing his true nature? Slip a question into casual conversation? _”Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask: do you prefer strangulation or stabbing when you kill your husbands?”_ It wasn’t going to happen.

How was he going to get his proof, then? Or his reassurance?

Could he just go by his instincts? His instincts told him to trust this man. Would a monster have shoulders like that? Would a monster wear the signs of his betrothal even in bed?

His instincts didn’t always get it right, though. Especially when his cock was involved. He needed some concrete reasons to feel safe.

“Bodie. You have to go. We can’t do this.” The voice was gentler, made more patient by his silence, not less. One hand was pressed flat on the bed in emphasis, the other lifting the bedclothes to shield the naked torso—Bodie hadn’t even been able to see if there were any nipples, since the dusting of hair erased all details in the dim light.

Would a psychopath speak like that? Bodie was starting to remember just why he wanted to trust this man, and with each second the image of himself as hand-picked sacrifice became less and less plausible. He was still left with a chilling, gut-deep apprehension, though—less than five hours to go until he was taken away from everyone and everything he knew. He wanted to feel safe. Right now. He needed to understand.

He felt for the edge of the bed, then backed to its foot and sat down. The hand on the bed clenched, but that was the only reaction that Bodie could discern at this distance. “No, I - I know I shouldn’t be here, but… I have to talk to you. Properly. I’ve got so frightened I can’t think.” He swallowed. “I can’t think what you’ve got planned for me. What to expect. All I could think was… I have to talk to you.”

A long pause, then a shuddering exhalation and the prince brought his hands to his lap and looked down at them. “You don’t want it. That’s what you’re saying.” Quiet and desperately controlled.

“No. No. I want it. It has to happen. But I’ve been lying in bed thinking - And I just _had_ to see you. Before we leave. I’m sorry.”

Another long pause. Finally the prince lifted his head and looked at Bodie, and eventually spoke, still very quietly. “Is it something I’ve done wrong?”

“God, no, it’s just… not knowing what to expect. What you have planned for me.” He didn’t know how to put it any more clearly than that.

“What I have planned for you?” The prince seemed near-choking with emotion. He was getting up onto his knees, reaching out. Bodie stood up, closed the distance between them, and was still standing when their hands met and clasped. Moments of stillness, and then the prince drew him down. “What I plan… To make you _so_ happy. To be all you could ever want in your husband.” And that itself could have been terrifying, would have been twelve hours ago. But now, in the shadows of his nightmares of sacrifice, it seemed the only credible promise for his future. He freed his right hand and held the prince close, and the heat of the prince’s back against his inner arm was another promise. A hand settled on his waist and he sighed, and moved his head back and forth so their masks rasped together.

“God, that feels better.” Another sigh that turned into a shaky laugh.

“You’re not frightened any more?”

“Well, I am, but now I think I’ll get over it.”

“Good. Good.” The prince lifted his head, slid his mask around the curve of Bodie’s until the mouths were touching. They were already breathing in time with one another. “I was frightened too, at first. That it was happening at all. And with a stranger, let alone a Rathlin. But the more I see of you, the more I know my body made the right choice.”

“Well, it’s a terrific body. What do you expect?” It was. Under his left hand the muscles of the upper arm felt perfect: fine, but strong. If there was a flaw, he hadn’t found it yet.

The prince chucked, held him tight, then eased the grip after a few seconds, with a sigh. “I should be telling you to go. This is…” Another sigh. “Let’s lie down.” He was tugging at the covers, and Bodie needed no further persuasion to heel his shoes off and slide under to join him.

They lay quietly on their backs, touching along one side, and with nearest hands clasped. Malun should have let them do this last night. After all, who would it have hurt? It would have spared the prince that attack of paranoia, at the very least. They were going to be alright. Together, they’d find a way to make it work.

Bodie was aware of the prince’s heartbeat speeding up, of the roughening breathing. If he lifted his head, the dim light would still be enough to show the excitement between the prince’s legs. Did the prince want him to ignore it, to leave? He could feel his own pulse thudding in his throat, and now pumping heat into his cock.

The prince gave a groan when Bodie’s hand slid between his thighs, then a series of small moans during the exploration which followed. Bodie liked what he found. Very much. Probably the best, and better still if only he wasn’t wearing this glove. The prince had hold of his shoulder and was pulling him over, and now was tugging at his flies. Bodie groaned in his turn.

For a while they were still again, pressed belly to belly, knowing that each throb and sigh was felt equally by the other. Hairs shifted under Bodie’s chest as he breathed; he lifted up to search for nipples, found one, and felt the effect immediately. Then they both sighed, and Bodie sank down again.

The spice wasn’t aftershave. It was the prince himself. Here sharp, here rich, here… God. Sex. Strong enough to make you dizzy. Hands were parting Bodie behind, the touch of each finger scalding and distinct. Salt and tidal, the smell of human sex rose, then surged as one finger traced the very base of the cleft.

* * * * *

Bodie’s mask had come off. He wasn’t sure how. Maybe those last moments had been too much for the force-field. Or maybe the prince had knocked it off. He thought it was on the far side of the bed. The prince didn’t seem to mind. How much could he see? Bodie opened his eyes and turned his head. Ah, at that angle, probably only the ceiling.

The prince’s right hand was resting on Bodie’s right shoulder. Soaking up sweat by the gallon, probably. Better hope there was a way of getting these gloves clean—without half the ship knowing about it. On impulse, Bodie lifted the hand and pressed the palm to his lips. It did taste salty.

“You must go. You have to go.” Utterly without force.

“I know.” Bodie rolled onto his side and raised himself on an elbow. Slowly, he reached out, hooked his fingers under the chin of the prince’s mask, and lifted it away. The prince’s lips were like velvet, and their movement as they opened to him echoed along Bodie’s nerves. The taste was dark, dark liquorice, and a trace of some bitter herb. The type of herb that stimulates appetite. How did he taste to the prince?

“You must go.” A groan.

“Is your father going to call in? To check on you?”

“I don’t think so. It wouldn’t be like him.”

“What would he do if he found us?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him that angry. Disappointed, probably. Really disappointed. Go on about how he wouldn’t tell my mother. For her sake, of course. But you know that _isn’t_ the reason that you have to go.”

“I know. Do you feel - You said it was a trust. I know I made you break it. You must be angry with me.”

“You can’t believe that. This was what you needed. I don’t regret it. Not at all. Despite their story, the rules were never intended for this situation. I don’t think anyone would blame us for putting you first. Maybe if we were going to breed… But as it is, it’s just between you and me. But you still have to go. Now that it’s done and you’re - You know enough of what to expect.”

“That wasn’t why I came here. I did just come to talk.”

“I know. But I’ll be setting the lock after this. We mustn’t do it again just because we can’t wait. I mean, if there’s no need. And there isn’t, is there?”

“I could say yes, but… Whatever there is, I’ll get over it. I _can_ wait.”

“Tell me if you start to feel… like that again. We’ll find another way of dealing with it.”

“I will.”

“I’m going to get dressed, then.” The prince sat up and turned away from Bodie—looking for his mask, it seemed. For both masks. He handed Bodie’s over, then got to his feet and walked off the end of the bed. A quick visit to the wardrobe, and the door of the bathroom shut after him.

Bodie lay looking at that door, turning the mask in his hands. A flawless body. Lips like velvet. An uncertain temper. A heartfelt, tender passion for a stranger. Profoundly stupid reasons for a man to become resigned to such a fate, but he should probably count himself lucky that he’d found any reasons. Even if the threat was lifted, he might now decide to stay. He needed to have sex with him again, to find out everything their bodies could do together. He could not now imagine walking away from all the possibilities.

Time to get up. He threw the covers back and tried to get his clothes into some kind of order. Y-fronts nearly down at his knees. God, that made him feel young. That and the way his shirt was glued to him. Fun, but he’d be glad to get next door to the shower.

The prince had turned the light off in the bathroom before he opened the door. He headed for the living area with barely a glance to check that Bodie was ready.

“My clothes are a mess, you know. Maybe we should -”

“No one’s going to see you. I won’t let you out until the corridor’s clear.”

“What’ll you do if there is someone there?” Bodie had visions of the masked head peering round the door and popping back in. Obvious, or what?

“I’ll go out and head towards the galley. At the worst it’ll be ten minutes before I can get back.” He raised his hand to the controls.

The corridor was clear, and Bodie was undressed and in his shower within two minutes. It was just gone half past eight, and they were meeting again at nine.


	5. Chapter 4

## Chapter 4

The galley was close to the conference area, and almost deserted. Were these people naturally early risers, or was everyone out doing last-minute shopping? Bodie did a quick count of tables and reckoned there was seating for about 150. “How many in the crew?”

“Um. It was 248 on the way out. Be a few less on the way back.”

“And the whole fleet?”

“That’s here, around eight hundred. Most of them are small scout-ships. The whole fleet, I’m not sure. Thousands.” A shrug. “Tens of thousands.”

They had a new chaperone, a young woman who had walked several paces behind them on the way to the galley, and was now sitting at a table near the door. No one else was paying them any attention—just another pair of royal love-birds. He must ask the prince when they’d last had a wedding in the family.

The prince had fetched two trays and then led Bodie along the counter. He pointed out the dishes that wouldn’t agree with Bodie (about one in ten), and then described the others in detail, making comparisons with human food where possible.

“Is the cooking good here? Is this what it’s like at home?”

“Oh. It’s not bad, I suppose. The raba is recognisable, at least. But it will be better at home, I promise.”

Home: their planet? or the flat? “Do you cook?” Another good reason for leaving Earth—he had the perfect excuse for his ignorance in the kitchen.

“Yeah. When I have time. I never asked what you’re actually in the mood for, for breakfast. The crew works shifts, so there’s always the whole range here.”

“Well… Toast and marmalade—or honey or something else sweet. Orange juice. Coffee.”

“OK.” The prince skipped the next third of the counter. “That’s a kind of bread.” It was a pale yellow and very knobbly. “If you take a few slices back to your cabin I’ll show you how you can toast it.” Bodie took one of the rectangular plates, fitted it into the groove on the tray, and helped himself to three slices. “And that’s a bit like butter.” It was white, with creamy flecks. “D’you want to try some?” Bodie nodded and the prince cut a slice from the slab and put it on a small square plate which fit into the grooves in the top left of the tray.

“As for marmalade…” The prince was pointing at a line of dispensers which were labelled with both writing and pictures. Bodie could only guess that the pictures referred to types of fruit—and hope that considerable artistic license had been used, since there was nothing depicted that he would wish to put in his mouth. “There’s nothing exactly the same, but that’s probably closest in sweetness and acidity.” The picture was a purple circle with vicious-looking spikes. “And you might like that, too.” A green heart, complete with jaunty veins and arteries.

“OK, I’ll try both.” The prince pressed the switch for a dollop of the purple, and Bodie copied him with the green.

“And all of the drinks are over here.” On to the end of the counter and another line of dispensers. “That’s the same fruit as the marmalade. Tegal.” A deep, deep purple. “D’you want to try a couple, see what you like?”

“No, that one’ll be fine. I’ll have plenty of time to work my way around the menu.” The glass was square and squat, and had a ridge around the outside of the rim—whose purpose he soon discovered when the prince fitted a lid over the glass.

“No uncovered liquids outside the galleys and cabins.”

“In case you lose gravity, or something?”

“That’s the idea.”

“Aren’t you going to take anything?”

The prince glanced down at his empty tray. “I’m sort of hungry but… there’s absolutely nothing here I feel like eating.”

“Your appetite still acting up?”

“Yeah. You’ll probably hear all about it when it comes back.”

* * * * *

Back in Bodie’s cabin, the prince demonstrated the grill setting on the oven. Bodie liked the switch that made the shelf slide in and out—no messing about with handles or burning the hair off your knuckles.

“Oh, I keep on forgetting to ask…” Or, rather, asking at the very worst time. “… but it would help if I had a notepad and something to write with. Save you explaining things six times.”

“I’ll deal with that while you’re eating breakfast. Check on your list of supplies, too. Is there anything on the list that you want brought straight here? The shipment’s assigned to one of the short-term holds, which means about a two-hour retrieval time.”

“Um…” Mentally, Bodie scanned the list, or what he could remember of it. “No, it can all go in the hold. I’d like the list back, though. Or an inventory.”

“I’ll try and get both. We’ll leave you to your breakfast.”

“How long will you be?”

“About half an hour. Will that be enough?”

“Plenty of time. Then will you show me around the ship? Or is this a bad time?”

“No, should be OK as long as we don’t get underfoot. We’ll save the introductions till later.”

* * * * *

The ship had three decks. The lowest one was taken up with long-term and medium-term holds and the prince simply showed Bodie the main cargo bay (which was on the middle deck) with its hatches and administration offices. Bodie had expected pandemonium, but though it was busy—about twenty people in the office, and thirty around the bay, all thoroughly occupied—there was no feeling of last-minute panic.

“What’s the latest on the departure time? Still around mid-day?”

“Yes. Around half-twelve. Things are going well.”

Only two hours to go. Bodie would have expected a bit more urgency and sense of occasion. But to them it was a routine voyage—departing a few days earlier than first planned, but it couldn’t have been the first time that had happened and they obviously had their work well under control.

“How long have you been in the trading business?”

“Me personally? Or the family? Or our culture?”

“Whatever.”

“Well, we’ve had long-range space-flight for about three hundred years. Started finding the jump points about two hundred years ago. Then fifty years to learn how to use them and after that there was no stopping us.

“The family got dragged along right from the beginning—without the masks for reassurance we’d probably still be looking for volunteers to test the first jump ships. At first the family were just along as passengers and to make the first contact, but they started getting involved financially—well, when the travelling is taking you away for months and years at a time, you can’t really keep anything going back home—and now the family and the business are pretty-much the same thing.”

“And what about you? You’re new to it, aren’t you? Malun said you were a policeman.”

“Yeah. I’ve not been wearing Udom Kol long. This is the first contact mission since then. My job’s waiting for me back home. Malun’s obviously hoping I’ll get a taste for this, though. Take up the family tradition at last.”

“Doesn’t sound as if you’re going to.”

“Well…” A sigh full of reluctance, possibly unconscious. “I have been thinking that it might suit you, though. More in touch with your home.”

“I had more of a clean break in mind. Do you like your job back home?”

“I love it.”

“Then let’s not mess with that. I’ve spent enough of my life onboard ship. The romance has long gone.”

“OK.” The relief in his voice was so clear, Bodie would almost have sworn he saw the mask smile, too.

* * * * *

As well as the cargo bay—which was across the centre of the deck—the middle deck held the engine room and life-support systems (at the rear), and corridor upon deserted corridor of crew’s quarters (at the front). Around the edge of the deck, closest to the hull, were medium-term and short-term holds, connected to the cargo bay by a hover-way—which was the best English term the prince could come up with for the track along which the floating pallets were being pulled.

Bodie was already familiar with areas of the upper deck, since it contained the family’s quarters, the passenger-transportation facilities, the conference area, and the galley. It also contained other communal areas: a large library, a very large exercise hall, a theatre, a garden (of sorts), and any number of lounges, some with huge, agoraphobia-inducing observation windows. The Earth was visible from the port-side observation lounge, hanging above them like a blue and white jewel—Bodie stepped towards the glass, mesmerised.

Eventually, the prince broke the silence. “That’s a very attractive planet you come from, sir.”

Bodie snorted his amusement, looked at the prince and then back at the globe. “I never thought it would be so _blue_. Ten years in England, I went back to thinking of water as a mucky grey. What’s your planet like?”

“Even more water. We don’t really have continents, just groups of islands a bit like Britain. We feel at home on islands—it’s one of the reasons we chose you for our base.”

Bodie’s eyebrows shot up at that. Should he feel slighted that he wasn’t the only factor? Or amazed at their capacity for lies and self-deception? But of course the prince didn’t know the whole truth.

A voice filled the lounge: an announcement, presumably. Bodie craned his neck, looking for the speakers. “What’s she saying?”

“That the admiral’s set our departure for about half an hour. Teams should locate their members and report immediately if they need more than half an hour to finish their tasks. There shouldn’t be a problem from what we’ve seen going round.”

“Half an hour.” Bodie turned to look up again at his planet.

“Do you want to stay and watch? I’ll leave you to yourself if you’d…”

“Well…” He studied the prince. The man hadn’t a hope of understanding what he was going through, but he would do his best, and he wouldn’t make any stupid remarks. Insisting on being on his own would be a fine gesture, but also thoroughly miserable. “How long will it take until it’s out of sight?”

“After an hour it’ll be about this size.” He was holding his finger and thumb a pea’s-breadth apart.

An hour just watching his home get smaller and smaller. Both depressing and boring. But was he just going to turn his back and read a book while it happened?

“Do you usually watch?”

“I used to when I was a kid. I was more patient then. I was on the bridge for the approach.”

“What if we watch the first ten minutes, and then come back after an hour to watch… pfft?”  He mimed squashing the pea.

“OK. Good idea.”

“Is there anything else on this deck? We’ve still got a good twenty five minutes, haven’t we?”

“Yeah, there’s the communications centre. The bridge. The command offices. They’ll probably yell at us for getting in the way, but you might as well see everything.”

* * * * *

They didn’t get yelled at, but no one seemed to have time to acknowledge their presence.

“Would you have been involved in any of this if I wasn’t here?”

“I’d probably be dragging containers along the hover-way.”

“What did you do on the way here?”

“Learned languages, mostly. I helped out sometimes in the comms centre and the galley.”

Bodie was shaking his head. “You know, I thought you were whisking me away to a life of idle luxury. Palaces and solid-gold baths and peacocks on the lawn. I can’t help feeling I’ve been suckered, somewhere along the line.” His tone made it clear that he was not serious.

“You’ve had the worst luck. You got the one who turned his back on the family’s fortune and set out to prove himself among honest working folk.”

A hopeful tilt of the head. “But they’d take you back any time, right? I’d set my heart on bagging a few peacocks.”

Any reply from the prince was drowned out by an announcement, the fourth so far.

“Five minutes, yeah?”

The prince nodded and they headed back to the observation lounge.

“How long do the engines take to fire up?” Bodie had been expecting some change in the noise or vibration for the last hour.

“Not sure. Couple of hours? I think they tune them up in some sort of recycle mode beforehand, and they can switch out of that into drive mode almost immediately. You’ll feel _that_ for sure.”

So the prince had known why he was asking. “How far are we from home?”

“About… seven hundred light-years, I think. Give or take.”

“But that’s - I mean we’ll be travelling hundreds of times faster than light. I thought that was…”

“Well, we will and we won’t. We use the jump points, which are like short cuts. Don’t ask me how they work—I’ve tried to understand but it just gives me a nosebleed. And to and from the points we travel at about a tenth of the speed of light.”

“How far to the first point?”

“About two weeks. We’ll use six points in all.”

“What’s the jump like?”

A shrug. “It’s alright. It’s just like going through a door. Some people find the sights very disturbing, so we black out the view.” The deck juddered under their feet and then settled down to a purring vibration. “There. We’re in drive mode.” They moved closer to the window.

For the first few minutes, the Earth remained the same size above Bodie’s head. The only sign of change was the slow emergence of eastern Europe and then Asia as they moved away from their parking-space above the Atlantic. Then Bodie could see the moon—a small, sun-lit dot peering around the opposite side of the planet.

“What’s the acceleration? Seems fairly gentle.”

“We should be at 10 gee by now. That’s the standard.”

“What!” Bodie stared at him, then shook his head. “That can’t be right. We’d be little splintered heaps on the deck.”

“It’s the artificial gravity. It works both ways—compensates when we’re in drive. Don’t ask me how. It’s another nosebleed thing for me.”

“But… what if it breaks down?”

“The drives are designed to cut out.”

“Well, I hope your designs are perfect.”

“It’s that or five years for a round trip. And you can fit in a lot of close shaves in five years.”

Bodie just nodded his head vaguely. The moon was fully visible now, and he was realising that he could see parts of its surface that no one on the planet could see now, and that very few had ever seen outside photographs. “How close will we get to the moon?”

“Not sure. I can go and find out.”

“Please.” He didn’t watch the prince leave. The idea that they might fly over the moon—that there might be a point when it would fill the whole window. Worth waiting for. Worth a bit of boredom.

By the time the prince returned they were over India and the Earth was noticeably smaller, although the moon seemed exactly the same. It was further away than he’d realised, though he remembered now that he used to know all that stuff as a child. Thanks to Hotspur comics. Or was it the Hornet?

“What’s the news?” Still looking out of the window. The prince had stopped inside the door to have some sort of argument with their chaperone (or so it had sounded), and had only just arrived by his shoulder.

“Close enough to be interesting, they reckoned. Especially if it’s your first time. We’ll be there in about half an hour. D’you want to get something to eat?”

Bodie looked up, suddenly remembering the man’s erratic appetite. “Are you starving?” A sneaked glance out of the window showed little change. Maybe this would be the best time to take a break.

“Got the shakes.” He held a hand out to demonstrate. “Just came on me a few minutes ago.”

“OK.” Bodie stood up. “Let’s go and get you fed.”

* * * * *

The galley had been much busier, but they still hadn’t attracted much attention. Bodie had taken a plate of some kind of stew; the prince had taken two plates of the stuff, and a plate of sliced fruit with a milky sauce. There were insulating lids stacked by the hot food for the benefit of the family, which Bodie hadn’t noticed before.

The stew was good, though they seemed to like bitter tastes—not so much, though, that he wouldn’t get used to it. The meat had been like a very moist pork, and the vegetables (if that was what they were) a mixture of textures and sweetnesses. He wanted to ask what each piece was, and he kept on wishing the prince was with him.

Two months of eating alone. Just another week of this and he’d be off his food as badly as the prince. Any chance of bringing the wedding forward? He snorted, knowing the answer to that one already. He was dreading the ceremony, but otherwise… Another snort as he acknowledged just how much “adjusting” he’d done in so short a time. Not that he was facing the full implications of being married to the bloke— _for fifty years?_ —but at this moment he was certainly eager to get much, much closer to him. Had they known it would work like this? Were they telepathic or something? Or had they slipped a potion into his curry on Day Six? Right now, he didn’t care.

* * * * *

They’d arranged to meet back at the lounge, with the prince bringing the chaperone. Bodie arrived first and found that he was not alone. There were twelve crewmembers already in the lounge, in groups of varying sizes, and mostly installed near the window. He felt a flicker of panic in case they tried to speak to him and hung back by the door for nearly a minute, but his concern for his own image of himself was greater, and that propelled him across the room to take one of the last remaining tables by the window.

The Earth was now about the size of a 1 p coin—still a heart-stopping swirl of blue and white, but Bodie wasn’t sure any more that he could definitely have identified it as his own planet. The moon was coming up fast to the right, nearly a full moon from this angle, and its craters were as clear and sharp as if they’d been made yesterday. Just another minute, and he’d be able to reach out and touch… He got to his feet, and went to stand in the curve of the window, his left hand pressed to the glass.

The moon was nearly directly underneath him and half in shadow when his right hand was taken in a gloved grip. Returning the grip, he looked up in greeting, and then over his shoulder for the chaperone.

“Other way. She’s over by the door.”

Bodie couldn’t be bothered to check. “Isn’t she going to rush over and drag us apart?” A quick squeeze of the hand as elaboration.

“I cleared this with her earlier. Eventually. She said… it was permissible as long as we were standing up, and as long as we kept our hands in plain view at all times.”

Bodie chuckled—in any other mood and situation he would have burst out laughing.

An answering chuckle. “I know. I almost decided it wasn’t worth it.” Their thumbs rubbed together, and then stilled as they settled to watching the moon. It slid past quickly and then dwindled away to the left at an astonishing speed. Within two minutes it had shrunk to the size of the Earth, and after ten minutes, with the Earth the size of a pea, Bodie started losing track of the moon against the stars. Ten more minutes, and the Earth was gone as well.

He sighed and turned to the prince, not with anything to say, but wanting to mark the moment. There was a gentle pressure around his hand, and silence.

“When will we go past Mars?”

“We won’t. We’re already heading out of the plane of the system. Mars would have been another twenty hours, anyway.”

“Are we at - What did you say? A tenth of light-speed, now?”

A quiet laugh. “Nothing like. It’ll take us three or four days to get up there.”

“Oh.” He’d thought he’d known that space was big and that light was fast, but still…

There were no real, changing features out of the window now. Maybe the sun would have been something to look at, but that was on the other side.

“D’you think she’ll come and break us up now that it’s over?”

“Might do.” A squeeze. “You OK?”

He shrugged. “‘s a bit of a let-down, isn’t it? Think I’m disappointed more than anything.”

“Know what you mean. D’you want to stay longer, or…?”

“Um.” He didn’t want to stay, but what did he want to do when he was feeling this low? “I could do with some exercise. But I suppose this -” He tapped his mask with his free hand. “- rules that out.”

“Not everything. I usually use the gym as myself, but I’ve got a good idea what’s possible. We’re not the first betrothed couple wanting exercise, after all.”

He would probably have figured that out eventually. “Are there any others on board right now? And I’m going to need special clothes for the gym, aren’t I?”

“I’m sure there aren’t. Let’s see what you fancy doing and I’ll get on to stores. I can lend you something for today.”

“Be a bit small, won’t they?”

“Mmm. Snug.” A swift survey of Bodie’s body. “But interesting.”

“Are you thinking of sitting in the corner and ogling me? I’m sure that’s not permitted.”

“I’m thinking of ogling you from much closer than that. If you don’t mind the company.”

Bodie released his hand, not intending rejection, but needing to face him. “So it is permitted?”

“Sure.” A gesture around the room. “No one’s got any illusions about what we want to do with each other. It’s not supposed to be a secret. They’ll just make sure we can’t do anything about it.”

“It’s going to be a long, long wait. I _knew_ I should have asked for more books.”

The prince chuckled (practically giggled) then led the way to the door. They made a detour by the prince’s cabin for sports clothes, and the daytime lights showed Bodie a living area that was even barer than his own. And he’d been in this cabin for two months? Was he compulsively tidy? Or was this a measure of how much he’d wanted to be home and back at work? Which would make Malun an Olympic-grade optimist if he thought Ray might join the business.

After a thorough tour of the gym, they decided on a weight-lifting circuit, although there were no actual weights, everything being done with force-fields or something. Bodie thought his tracksuit would be quite suitable (looking at it purely in practical terms), but made no attempt to argue when the prince led him over to the changing-rooms and held out a pair of skimpy garments in a squeezy dark-blue fabric.

“They’re the largest I’ve got.”

“Yeah?” Shorts and a vest-like top. Well, if it would keep the prince happy… “OK, thanks.” He pressed Open for the door of the nearest cubicle.

As it turned out, the material was very elastic and both shorts and top were perfectly comfortable—although they certainly put his body on display. That was fine if it was just him and the prince, but he hoped the rest of the crew were safely back at work after lunch.

Any reservations about the prince’s choice were dismissed the instant he saw the man himself. The rust-brown material gave the skin the look of smoke and honey. Hair so subtle and varied: straight and fine on his forearms, and wild and rough on his thighs. Bodie wanted to be wrapped around him, every inch. And those shoulders…

“You’ve got wonderful arms.” They had spoken simultaneously. A couple of seconds for reaction, and then they laughed.

The prince nodded his head towards the doorway. “Let’s go.”

They worked for over an hour, sometimes talking, sometimes silent, depending on mood, proximity, and level of exertion. When they were side by side, Bodie could smell the prince’s sweat again and now the reaction went straight to his cock without bothering with any analysis. Wait, 3.7. You have to wait. Think about expense claims. Being on duty with Anson.

How did his sweat smell to the prince? Sweet? Yeasty? In comparison, it might be almost cloying, but not to the prince, he was sure. Later, much later, he’d ask.

When they’d walked into the shower area, Bodie’s eyebrows had leapt at the sight of the communal showers: first a jolt of anticipation, but then embarrassment as he remembered the chaperone trailing behind them. He was about to suggest that they send for a man—and why hadn’t the prince thought this out beforehand?—when the prince pointed him towards a cubicle tucked in to the right of the doorway.

“You want me to go first?”

“Eh? No, there’s…” There was another cubicle opposite, to the left of the doorway. Specifically for betrothed couples? Well, they would have to design around it.

The door was closer to the type Bodie was used to: it had a handle and hinges, and swung outward. There was a cupboard built into it; presumably somewhere to keep your mask and clean clothes dry, since there was almost no floor-space.

When he emerged he found the prince and the chaperone propped in the doorway, talking fairly amicably. Maybe she wasn’t as annoyed with this duty as he’d thought. Should they have paid her more attention? He’d leave the prince to worry about the etiquette.

“What now?”

“What do you fancy doing?” Bodie suspected it was the first time he’d asked the prince that.

“Going back to your room and watching a film?”

“OK. What if there’s nothing on, though?”

“We’ve got hundreds in the Library. Thousands of hours of TV, too.”

“In English?”

“Yeah, and French and German and Spanish and Japanese and Arabic. You name it.”

“Have you already seen all the films?”

“Not all.”

“What’s your favourite? In English. What wouldn’t you mind seeing again?”

“Oh.” A pause. “Rear Window. I made everyone watch that. Jaws. Alien.”

“Alien?” Bodie was astonished. “But didn’t you…” He trailed off.

“I like a good monster story as much as the next man. And, no, I didn’t take it personally.”

“Are there - Are there things like that out there?”

“As my uncle always says -” The prince raised a lecturing finger. “- ‘There’s nothing so strange it won’t pay good money to try a new kind of jam.’” Over Bodie’s giggles, he continued: “In other words, if there are, they haven’t bothered us yet.”

“What’s Rear Window about?”

“A man who starts to think his neighbour has murdered his wife. They were in a tolmin marriage. It’s a detective story.”

“OK. Let’s give it a try.”

* * * * *

By the time the film was over, the prince was feeling hungry again. Bodie had decided to have one of the Marks and Sparks curries, but accompanied him to the galley anyway. This time the place was packed, and they spent a good five minutes making their way along the counter.

“Where’s the rest of the family been today? Do they have their own offices, or something?” Surveying the queue, Bodie had realised that the two of them were the only masks he’d seen all day.

“Oh.” Slight surprise. “They’ve been around. As themselves.”

“Are there any here now?”

The prince scanned the room. “Yes. I’m not allowed to point them out to you, though.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to. Are they watching us?”

“Well. A bit.”

Bodie didn’t bother looking around. It would have been against the spirit of the rules, and, anyway, if they were anything like humans they’d have started concentrating hard on their food as soon as the prince had spotted them watching. “Any plans for tonight?”

“I’d like to do something about making those language tapes for you. If you’re still interested. I can set things up so I can do it in your room.”

“No, let’s give our chaperone a break. I’ll read or something. Anyway, I’ll need some time to myself if I’m going to get psyched up to meet the family.”

A startled lift of the head. “I thought you didn’t want to.”

“I can’t exactly ignore them for two months, can I?”

“Why not? I would. But if you’re sure, that’d be great.”

“You don’t like them? Your father seems OK.”

“Malun? You wait until you’re on the wrong side of him. He just won’t - No, they’re good people. Mostly. Just not my first choice. My friends, the people I really want you to meet are back home.

Bodie would probably never see his friends again. And what were the chances that they would have disowned him if he’d attempted any introduction?

“You haven’t any friends in the crew?”

“Not really. I mostly kept to myself on the way out. And when I was working, that was as myself, so I don’t see how I can introduce you to… Falun, say, while we’re betrothed. I never thought before how much of a nuisance it could be.”

“Don’t suppose there’s any chance of bringing the wedding forward? To tomorrow, say.”

A short laugh. “Malun did say he might insist on another month even after we get home. In case you went into russas at the colour of our sky, or the taste of the water, or something. He won’t let us get married until I can prove that your name is carved into every cell in my body.”

Bodie closed his eyes briefly at that image, knowing he should be feeling trapped and angry and frightened. And, yes, there was a chill of fear, but it was at the fact that he understood the image exactly, that he felt quite ready to offer his own body as proof. Gut-churning passion in the dinner line. What was happening to him? Well, gut-churning lust, anyway. Must be the strangeness of the whole situation, the frustrations of this betrothal business.

There was silence for a while. Bodie studied the food, testing himself on which ones he could and couldn’t eat, and letting the sound of a hundred alien conversations wash over him. At times the language sounded angular and harsh, at others liquid and flowing. At least they didn’t sound as if they were shouting at one another all the time, not like Chinese—he couldn’t have stood that for long.

The prince had chosen his main meal: it looked a bit like cannelloni, except the pasta part was black. They shuffled forward a few more paces, then the prince suddenly turned, lifting his tray from the rail. “I can’t be bothered with this. I’ve got some ennis back in my cabin.” Bodie nodded, and led the way from the room.

They were at the door Bodie’s cabin when the prince next spoke. “How long d’you think you’ll need to psyche yourself up?”

Bodie shrugged. “Couple of hours? I’d like to keep it short this first time. It’s not as if we can fall back on discussing the weather.”

“I’ll get Malun to arrange things. Might be easiest if we meet in his rooms—that way the pair of us can leave at any time and we won’t have to wait for the rest of them to get the hint.”

“OK. Come and collect me when you’re ready.”

* * * * *

Bodie had a couple of beers with his curry, then stretched out on the couch with August 1914. It hadn’t been a bad day so far. Quite promising, really. Given the free run of the gym and the films and the library, he’d have fewer problems with boredom than he’d expected. Be nice to have something to do, though, even if it was only dragging crates of bread along the hover-way. He’d ask the prince about that tomorrow.

The Russians were just entering the war when the prince came to the door. Bodie called out, “On my way,” as he bent to tie his shoelaces, then suspected it had been a waste of time—a spaceship with anti-gravity probably didn’t have the kind of plaster-board walls he’d got used to.

A single touch to open the door this time, since he’d taken the lock off while he was waiting for the curry to cook. Not that he was hopeful, exactly, but it wasn’t _impossible_ to imagine the prince getting into one of his manic states and forgetting all his good intentions.

It was a different chaperone this time—the late shift—a dark-skinned young man with velvety eyebrows who Bodie thought he recognised from the cargo bay. The king’s cabin was at the far end of the corridor, as deep as you could go into family territory. The king answered the door himself, and Bodie could see at once that the cabin was much larger than his own, and with a different layout. The lounge area was more along the lines of a drawing-room, with seating for twelve or more—but that was all he had registered when the sight of the six masks staring at him made his thoughts break up in the static of near panic.

The king showed them to a couch. The prince took a casual pose with an ankle propped on a knee, and Bodie would have done the same but it would have looked too cosy and contrived. What to do with his hands, though? Anything rather than tuck them in his lap like a schoolboy waiting to see the headmaster. If only he had a glass to hold—but the masks put that social lubricant out of the question.

What was everyone else doing? They were all looking thoroughly at home, if watchful, though that might just be an effect of the masks. What about -

“Where’s our chaperone?”

“He’s waiting outside.”

“So he was just making sure we didn’t…” He remembered that these people spoke English. “Just for the walk down the corridor, then?”

“And back. And he’ll stay with us later if we go to your room.”

No one seemed to be listening in, except maybe the king, who was sitting closest. There were at least two conversations going on, both in their language.

“So who is everyone?” Before he could get a reply: “Hang on, there’s eight here. I thought there was only six of you.”

The king answered him. “Six is the most we usually put up at first contact. But the family’s larger than that. There’s a core of twelve, and some others who only appear on rare occasions. You’re looking at everyone who’s onboard ship: the space-going core.”

“Are they all in the business? Trade, I mean.”

“All except one or two.” A glance at the prince, there.

“So. Who is everyone? Or can you only introduce me to their roles at the moment?”

“Unfortunately. That probably makes this seem a bit pointless.”

Bodie shrugged. “I can’t exactly hide in my room with Ray for two months. We’ve all got to start sizing each other up soon or later.”

The king laughed, attracting the attention of all the others. “And what do you think of us so far?”

Why did people ask that sort of question of visitors? They weren’t after an honest answer. Not that Bodie had anything particularly wounding to say, but still… “I’m very impressed. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been made to feel so welcome.”

“What impresses you most about the ship?” The princess-heir, leaning forward from the far end of the king’s couch.

“Well… I’d have to say the anti-gravity.” A ripple went through his audience—surprise and pride, presumably. “I’ve flown a bit, done some stunts, and I know what 4 gee feels like—how you can’t even lift your arm. That we can be at 10 gee and not know it… It’s amazing.”

“Yes, it’s made a lot of things possible.” The king, in a flatter voice than Bodie had expected. Maybe the ripple had been shame, instead. Had they _stolen_ it, or something?

“What are _you_ most proud of?” Probably the safest approach. The question had been addressed to the princess-heir, but he got four replies.

From the princess-heir: “Finding the Filisur Inflexion. It’s shaved 20% off our fuel consumption.”

From the king: “Our language scouts and anthropologists, I think. They get more efficient with every mission.”

From the woman in the wooden mask with the foliage: “Our marketing. We haven’t taken an unplanned loss on a line in more than six years.”

From the man in the scorched black mask with red fissures (not part of the contact team): “We’ve got a really well-balanced planting of flowers in the garden at the moment.”

Bodie blinked. Well, what had he expected from in-laws? “Yeah, that does sound a lot to be proud of.”

“Are you happy with your quarters? Is there anything else you need?” That was black-with-fissures again. Was he the housekeeper, or something?

“They’re very nice. Lots of room. I could do with a translation of the controls in the kitchen and the menus on the TV, but Ray and I will probably get down to that tomorrow.” Or wasn’t he supposed to call him “Ray” yet? There had been another shiver of reaction, though not from all of them.

“Are you planning on trying to learn our language?” The first contribution from the man in the moss-covered skull—a wise omission from the contact party, in Bodie’s opinion.

“Yes, of course.” He turned to his prince. “I’ve made a start, haven’t I?”

“A good start.” To the room. “I’m making a set of language tapes for my betrothed. So far I’m just translating our standard hasseten pattern course, but it’s not my area so…”

“Are you going to concentrate on one vocabulary stream? Or include everything?” The princess-heir.

“My local stream. I think it’s most important to get the grammar in first.”

“So you’re going to have him wear a sign around his neck saying, ‘I only understand Ikara dialect.’. It should only be for a few years if he’s everything you say.” The skull.

Tendons flexed briefly in the prince’s neck, and his hand tightened on his ankle and stayed tightened. His voice, however, showed remarkable control. “We have speculated, you know,” he said to Bodie, “as to what areas of mental activity were sacrificed when our language centres started to develop as they did. You only have to spend ten minutes with my brother to realise that some desperate economies were made.”

Bodie bit his lips to stop himself laughing. The skull made a brief, cold response in their language—presumably some equivalent of: “And fuck you too.”—and then the king asked how far the translation had progressed, though with no sign of peace-making urgency, as if the exchange hadn’t happened or was perfectly normal.

A separate conversation started up at the far end of the room, also on language, but at a level Bodie had no hope of following, let along joining. It began in English, but soon drifted into… well, who knows how many other languages.

“How are you getting on with our food?” The change in the king’s tone told Bodie he was being addressed—he’d been looking at the pictures on the opposite wall, which were all maps as far as he could tell.

“It’s good. Very good for ship food. It seems fairly similar to ours so far. Different flavourings but same basic ideas.”

“Yes, there’s a lot of overlap. Not total, but Ray should help you with that. Did you enjoy your sight of the moon?”

Who had told him? Or was he the one the prince had asked about the flight-path? “It was great. I never thought I’d see anything like that. Does your planet have a moon?”

It was the prince who answered. “It’s got three. Smaller than yours, but closer.”

“They’re all volcanic.” The king. “It’s what people usually say they miss most when they’re away, the eruptions.”

“So you can see them from the planet? The volcanoes?”

“Oh, yeah. There used to be a fourth moon, but it tore itself apart.” As Bodie’s noise of startled query, the prince hastened to reassure: “Oh, we’re talking tens of thousands of years ago. But that’s where Hutton Iba’s story comes from. Or so we think.” He was gesturing at black-with-fissures.

Bodie was even more amazed. To be connected with something going back tens of thousands of years. “What about you? Udom Kol, I mean. Was there a flood, or something?”

“Any number, but that’s more Kamaran. Which is back home. My older sister wears it. No, Udom Kol is at a different level. Outside history, really. You’ll see.”

“We must seem really… lost, to you.”

“Why d’you say that?”

“Well, we don’t remember anything longer than… oh, fifty years, it seems sometimes. Tens of thousands…” He shook his head. “Not a hope.”

“Actually, we admire your gift for abstraction. We’ve had to accept that we are irredeemably literal—at least in these matters.”

Bodie appreciated the king’s compliment, but wished he understood it. How long had they been here? It felt like hours and he was getting a headache. He tried to sneak a look at his watch, but didn’t dare be too obvious. Why hadn’t he and the prince agreed on some signal beforehand?

“You had enough?” A whisper.

These people must be telepathic. Or had he felt the movement in Bodie’s watch-hand? Or found his clue in Bodie’s current stunned silence?

“You could say that.”

“Let’s go back to your place and watch another film or something.”

“OK.”

The prince told the king they were leaving, then stood and led the way out, acknowledging the rest of the family only with a raised hand.

* * * * *

“So what’s with you and the skull?”

“He’s an arsehole. What can I say?”

They had collapsed onto the couch, though denied a complete boneless sprawl because of the presence of the chaperone—the crew presumably thought the family had a wonderful time together.

“You two always been like that?”

“Always. A real incentive to leave home.”

Some minutes of silence. A beer would have gone down very nicely at this point. Maybe if you got one of those bendy straws… No, it would look bloody ridiculous.

“Is there some problem with the anti-gravity? I got the impression it was the _wrong_ thing to say.”

“No, we’re proud of it ourselves, but… You were right, the design isn’t perfect. The last accident was about a year and a half ago, and it killed my father.”

“Oh, God. I see. I’m sorry.” Bodie had been concentrating on wondering how badly he’d put his foot in it, and it took him a few moments to register exactly what the prince had said. “Your father? But -”

“Malun’s my uncle. My mother’s twin.”

“But I could have sworn -”

“It’s a symbolic thing.”

“So… The skull. _Is_ he your brother? Or is he a cousin or something?”

“No, he is my brother. Unfortunately. His name is Ward.”

“What about the others?”

“Hutton Iba—that’s the volcano mask—is worn by my oldest brother, Turon. And Laura Var—that’s the harvest mask—is worn by my youngest brother, West. My two sisters are both at home. The other people you met tonight aren’t my blood relations.”

“But they are members of the family?”

“‘ _The_ ’ family. Not _my_ family. Well, some by marriage. The others are executives in the business. It’s one of the penalties of rank.” He was very serious.

“Do you mind me asking all this?”

A brief touch to the back of Bodie’s hand. “I don’t mind you asking. Can’t say I enjoy telling, though. It all bores me stupid. Gets me down.”

“Must’ve been - Must’ve been difficult growing up with this stuff. Complicated.”

“I’m a Bakkel. I think by now we’re born knowing what’s involved. And my parents more or less left the business when they got married, so it was only a matter of a few hours in Monor on the alanist days. At least when I was young. And then Malun used to drop in every few months, talk about his anthropologists and the new engines and generally prove that the business turns you mad. I think I was twelve when I announced that I wasn’t going to have anything to do with the business _or_ the family.”

“And then your father died?”

“Yes. They did miss the work. My mother particularly. They’d always said they’d get a few more years in once West had started college. They would have been together that day, except the day commander was ill, and she took his shift at the station. And now…” A deep sigh and a shrug. “She used to wear Udom Kol, had done even before they were married. And she _insisted_ that I take it over. I don’t think it’s really _her_ speaking any more, but… I can’t say that and no one would listen anyway. So I’ve made the appearances at home and then they dragged me off on this.” Another touch to Bodie’s hand. “Not that I’m complaining now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. Things will get better. We’re all… still getting over what happened.”

“Must’ve been bad.” Bodie remembered what he’d said about “splintered heaps” and his thigh-muscles gave an involuntary flex as he felt the desire to kick himself.

“Terrible. It’s seeing my mother that’s the worst. She and Malun were such classic twins. They entered the fleet together. Powered their way up the ranks together. And now…” A prolonged shake of the head. “You don’t want to look in his eyes after he’s visited her.”

Silence.

“Can I hold your hand? If you explain to him what we’re talking about, will he let us?”

“He might, but… If he starts to argue, I’m not in the mood to push it.”

A brief question to the chaperone. Bodie watched the expression of indecision, and saw it switch to an affirmative a split-second before the man gave his briefer answer. He was twining their fingers before the prince had finished his translation: “He said we can but if he thinks we’re taking advantage he’ll have to break us up.”

“I wouldn’t want his job.”

“No.”

Silence.

“Have I really messed things up? With what I said about the anti-gravity.”

“No. How were you to know? It was a stupid question, anyway. Atenassi should have known better.”

“What about me calling you ‘Ray’? Some of them didn’t seem too pleased. Though Malun told me…”

“Yeah, I noticed that. I think… that’s when it really hit home that you’re joining the family. Our first alien.”

“Has it been announced at home yet? What’s the reaction?”

“We’re not in contact with home. The jump points don’t allow it. There are ways around that, but we haven’t set it up on this route yet.”

“What _will_ people think?”

“It’s none of their bloody business.”

Maybe not, but it was still going to make a big difference to Bodie’s life. Leave it for now, though.

“D’you reckon they’re still talking about us, in there?” He worked hard to get a smile into his voice and succeeded.

“Could be.” The prince was still low. “Or they might have forgotten about us the moment we left. I can never tell.”

“What would they be saying? That they’d better keep Earth off-bounds for unmarried men?” Another smile.

To his surprise, he actually got a laugh from the prince. “Maybe. Though if they’re honest you’re probably a relief. They’ve always thought I had terrible taste in lovers.”

Definitely not a virgin, then. He wondered again what men did with each other here. Not the right moment to ask about porn, but it would be best to be prepared mentally. And physically, if necessary.

For some minutes there was silence apart from the dry whisperings as their gloved fingers rubbed and drifted, and the sounds of their chaperone working at the keyboard over in the corner.

“I’ve been daydreaming about taking advantage.” The prince’s mood was obviously much improved. His head was tilted towards Bodie, and the desire to lean against Bodie was evident in every line of his body. It was not a strongly sexual desire, though, judging by the state of his crotch.

“Yeah? Before you drift off again, you should know I’m not an exhibitionist.” A warning delivered as a joke. Though he hadn’t seriously thought…

“I could have guessed that. I was just thinking about putting my arm around your waist.” His voice did sound half-asleep. “Having your hand on my stomach.” Movements very slow, he brought his free hand to rest on his own stomach.

A whisper: “I’ve taken the lock off.”

“I noticed.” A sigh. “I’m glad. But I meant what I said.”

“I know.”

The next silence was very long. Eventually the prince’s fingers stilled, and Bodie found himself waiting for the head to droop. There: down—down—down. And a startled jerk upright, just like a human.

“Maybe you’d better go to bed. You not sleeping, either?”

“Oh.” A shake of the head, and he withdrew his hand from Bodie’s to rub the back of his neck, obviously disoriented. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been sleeping.”

“Go to bed.”

“You don’t mind?”

“No. Go on.” He stood up and led the way to the door. The chaperone asked a question—presumably if they were finished for the night—and Bodie had to draw the prince’s attention to it. They should make that the priority in the language tapes: understanding the things chaperones are likely to say, and giving the correct response. After the prince and then the chaperone had left, he noted the idea down on his pad, with the question about porn after it.

* * * * *

Over the course of the next few days the two of them established a routine, or at least, a set of things they did most days, if not necessarily in the same order: they collected breakfast, lunch and dinner in the galley; Bodie worked through the latest language tape while the prince made the next; they spent at least an hour in the gym; they watched a film or two; they read.

Bodie enjoyed the prince’s language tapes and wished he was doing them justice—he was making better progress than he ever had with any other language, but there was a long, long way to go. The prince wasn’t just doing a straight translation, he was tailoring them for Bodie—more and more so as they got to know each other—filling them with shared references and jokes and messages and flirtation. Bodie soon knew sections of them by heart, which might be the reason he was making good progress.

Sometimes members of the family dropped in. They saw Malun most days, and once or twice a week they got brief visits from the princess-heir and the woman in the forest-man mask (who turned out to be married), and from the volcano brother and the painfully shy woman in the rock-face mask (who also turned out to be married). These visits were much easier than the gathering in Malun’s quarters—which was not repeated—and Bodie decided he could cope with his in-laws after all, provided the skull continued to stay away.

The aliens did have porn, and the prince directed Bodie to some of the tapes in the library—they probably weren’t stored on “tapes”, but that was the term the prince kept using and Bodie was happy to leave it at that. There were no surprises as far as the mechanics of sex were concerned, but the quality and attention to detail were striking. No mattresses in barns in these productions. Some of the themes were new to Bodie, though not really a surprise. Every tape had at least one scene involving a couple in plain masks like Bodie’s, and one tape had nothing but. Maybe this just reflected the prince’s tastes? Maybe there was a whole sub-industry of “mask porn”. He’d decided that the exhibitionist elements in these scenes definitely reflected the prince’s tastes: the masked couple was _always_ being watched by a group, sometimes from a distance, through a window or around a door, sometimes from the side of the bed, with a lot of groping involved. If the prince had mentioned the tapes, Bodie would probably have asked him outright about his kinks, but given the silence, he decided to wait.

Bodie was happy. He wasn’t sure if it would last, but for now he was happy.


	6. Chapter 5

## Chapter 5

It was about two and a half weeks after departure, and Bodie was fifty four light-years from home. He’d got rather excited about the first jump, and the two of them had stayed up for it past three in the morning, but it had been another disappointment. If it had not been for the announcements and the blacking out of the observation windows, he would not even have known it was happening.

He was in his cabin, finishing his after-supper beer, and pondering about the evening’s film in between paragraphs of Alaska, a Michener epic. He wasn’t expecting the prince for another half-hour, so was surprised when the door sounded. It was the king.

“He’s not here yet. D’you want to come in and wait? I think he’s next door, though.”

“He is. It’s you I’ve come to see.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t had a private conversation with Malun since the first day. “Well, come in.” When they were both seated: “Have I done something wrong?”

“No. No.” A slight pause. “Could you take your mask off, please? I need to see your face for this.”

Bodie shrugged but complied, and knew that the expression the king was seeing must be decidedly wary. He tried to lighten it: “Let me guess. You want me to model for the next company newsletter?”

The king’s laughter was easy, which was reassuring. When he next spoke, however, he was very serious. “Ray came to me yesterday and told me he knew it was completely fixed with him, that the rest of the betrothal period would serve no function. I was sceptical, but we have now established that he is correct. So I am here to ask you, formally, if you have also advanced to the same stage.”

Same stage? No function to the betrothal? God, don’t say Ray had decided to confess about that first night. Or had Malun guessed and this was his way of tricking Bodie into giving the details? Slowly: “I’m… I’m not sure…”

“Then, again formally: have you any objections to marrying Staten Ray Bakkel this day, given his established state and its consequences for yours?”

Bodie stared, he didn’t know for how long. Then, rubbing his temple hard, “I must be missing something. It sounded as if you were asking me if I wanted to marry Ray today.”

“I was. I am. And what is your answer?”

“Well, yes, of course. But what’s the point of asking? I know perfectly well we’ve got to wait until we get home. At least.”

“It sounds as if you think we’re sadists. Ray’s ready, I’d be astounded if you weren’t. I think you should be married tonight.”

“Tonight? Tonight!” It had sunk in. Bodie threw the book in the air and leapt onto the coffee table to catch it. He wanted to spring around the room, vault over the chair and couch, swing from the… well, no, there wasn’t a light-fitting. “Really? Tonight?”

“In an hour? If that gives you time to get ready.”

Bodie stepped off the table and sat perched on its edge. “So what happens, then? What do we do? What do we say?”

“It’s very simple. There’s nothing for you to say. If your family were here, they would accompany you, but in their absence, Atenassi, Oba Nyon, and Halabron would be honoured if you would accept them as your side.”

“Yes. Sure.” God, imagine his real family here. Mind you, he had trouble imagining them anywhere now.

“They will come here first, and then I will bring Ray here with the others of his side. I will remove his gloves while Atenassi removes yours, then we burn them in the dorsten. When the burning’s complete, you take each other’s hands—straight ahead like this -” He demonstrated, holding his arms out parallel to one another. “- instead of across as you did in the betrothal. And after that you’re married. You keep your mask on, though. Ray will tell you when to remove it.”

“And then the rest of you will leave us? No more chaperones?.”

“Of course. This is the borna Era, after all.”

“We don’t have to say anything, sign a certificate?”

“No. Atenassi and I make the record as witnesses to the pairing, but that’s traditionally done twelve hours after.”

“Oh, God.” Bodie sprang to his feet again, rubbing his hands together and grinning, and practically hopping with excitement. “An hour. I don’t - What’m I supposed to wear?”

“Anything you like. You’d be fine as you are.”

Bodie surveyed the cream poloneck and dark-brown cords. No, it wouldn’t do. “What will Ray be wearing?”

“I don’t know. I could find out.”

No. Oh, no, let it all be a surprise. “No, it doesn’t matter. I know what I’ll wear.” _“I want to see you in that again.”_ His evening-dress. What he’d been wearing when the prince first saw him.

“I’ll leave you to it then. We’ll make it exactly an hour.” They both checked their watches, and then the king let himself out.

Once alone, Bodie rushed around the kitchen and living-area, quite deserted by his usual economy of effort as he cleared things away. In the bedroom, he flung his clothes off and bundled them into the first empty drawer he found. He put his watch and gloves in, too, then remembered, retrieved them, saw he had less than three-quarters of an hour, and dropped them on the bed in his hurry to get showered.

Strangely, his cock hadn’t yet caught up with events. Probably just as well. If he wanted to, he could worry about when it _would_ choose to rejoin him, but it really wasn’t worth it. Everything would be fine.

His hands were shaking too much and he couldn’t afford to knick himself shaving. He closed his eyes and pressed the length of his back against the cool wall and breathed… breathed… breathed. It was enough.

Was the prince in the same state next door? He must be. Why hadn’t he said anything about going to see the king? Well, no, Bodie would probably have done the same.

It took three attempts to tie a bow he was happy with. His cufflinks could be shinier—he did his best to buff them up with a corner of a shirt, but they weren’t as good as they would have been that day at the negotiations. As if that mattered. But it did.

How did he look? Every inch the nervous groom.

Fifteen minutes to go. Straighten the bed. Fetch the T-shirt from under the pillow and straighten the bed again. The room was very, very bare: no pictures, no shelves, no clutter. Only the bed. His stomach was in knots now.

Nothing more to do. He went into the living-area, put his mask on in readiness, and then just sat with his eyes closed, breathing for all he was worth and trying not to feel sick. Come on, stomach, stand up for yourself—demand your blood-supply back.

Actually, this was just like his favourite kind of day at CI5. Favourite once it was over, mind. He laughed, and stretched himself, and felt marginally better.

After the three women arrived, events took on a pace and clarity that he certainly recognised from the heart of a CI5 operation. There was the slowing of time that let him see the right thing to do and do it surely, and there was the compression of time that crowded out any pauses in which he might have thought or felt. These effects ended some seconds after the door had closed on the last of their witnesses.

Bodie gave a gasping sigh, and then another. Through their joined hands, he could feel that the prince was shaking—fine tremors that the eye might not detect. The smell of the ashes was in the air, even though the king had taken the incinerator away with him.

“What now? Ray? What now?” His voice was a whisper, and far from steady.

A pause, and then the shaking hands drew him close, until their bodies touched, and the grasp was released, to be reformed as an embrace. They both sighed, over and over, and as their hands stroked and kneaded, and their masks grated together, they gradually achieved a sort of calm.

“So what now? Can I see you? Malun said you’d tell me when.”

“Not yet. We’re…” Bodie heard him swallow. “We have to mate first. I should have told you, but I didn’t think -”

“Oh!” He had raised his head from the prince’s shoulder. “Well, I suppose I should have guessed.”

“You don’t mind? I thought you’d be shocked.”

“By having sex with a mask on? What gave you that idea?”

“No, it’s more… So you don’t mind?”

They’d be here all night at this rate. “Getting keener on the idea by the second.” He stepped back and took the prince’s hand. “C’mon, mate. Let’s mate.”

The prince still seemed subdued once they were in the bedroom. Bodie steered him to sit on the bed, and knelt in front of him. “These never looked as good on me. You look wonderful.” He slid his left hand under the lapel of the blazer and over the crisp, white cotton of the shirt. The ridge of collar-bone seemed to thrum with life under his fingertips, and the ribs lifted against his palm. “You know, I have this feeling you’re gearing up to telling me something _you_ think’s going to be even worse. So what else did Udom Kol do that we have to do? I tell you, judging by what I saw in those tapes, it’ll be nothing I haven’t done fifty times before.”

The prince’s left hand came up to cover his, on top of the jacket. “Well, the first time it’s traditional for Udom Kol, for the one who made the approach, to…” He swallowed again, noisily, and the tendons flexed in his neck. “Well, to…”

“To fuck Embrun through the mattress?”

A nod.

“So what are we waiting for?” He slid his fingertips off the collar-bone, down over the contours of ribs, searching for a nipple.

“I thought you’d want a choice.”

“Afterwards, I will. But I’m not going to complain about having a good half of my fantasies come true. Are there any other rules, then?”

“No. Not now.”

“Then let’s get started. God, I bet Udom Kol was finished by now and they were into their first argument about sleeping in the wet patch.”

To Bodie’s surprise the prince laughed, mood suddenly lifted. Then he leapt to his feet, took Bodie’s hands and pulled him up and into the circle of his arms. “Let’s start again. Your line is: ‘What now, Ray?’.”

“So what now, Ray?”

A rough whisper in his ear: “I want to bugger you senseless. Then have you do the same for me. After that… we’ll make it up as we go along.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Their groins were starting to throb against one another. Bodie began sliding his hands down to the prince’s buttocks, but only got as far as his waist before the prince stepped back. After some seconds of surveying the length of Bodie’s body, he reached out and placed his hands flat on Bodie’s chest, covering the nipples but giving nothing more than warmth and pressure for now. Bare hands! Bodie saw the lean strength of them, the prominent veins, and was thrilled.

“You look so good like this. When I saw you close in these clothes for the first time, I wanted you so much. Nothing compared to now, of course. But after that I just couldn’t think of anything else. I should have realised in seconds what was happening. I’m so glad you decided to wear them now.”

“And I’m glad you wore these.” Bodie rested his hands lightly on the prince’s hips, smoothing his fingers over the brushed, light-grey cotton. “Did you have to take the trousers up?”

A nod. “I did it weeks ago. The night after we left. I knew it was what I was going to wear.”

“A man who plans ahead. I like that.”

For a while, the prince simply studied his own hands on the white of Bodie’s shirt. Then he raised his face slowly to Bodie’s. Bodie wanted to kiss him, felt his mouth filling with heat. The hands slid inward, found the line of buttons, and started undoing them. When three were open, the prince looked down again, and they both watched the right hand push through the gap. Bodie sighed. The fingertips found a nipple, explored it, and Bodie’s trousers reached the annoying stage of tightness.

“And you like that, too.”

“Oh, yes. Do you?”

“Yes.” The prince’s left hand was now exploring Bodie’s bow-tie, seemingly looking for a fastening underneath the bow.

“No, you just pull. Here.” He lifted the hand and placed it over the loose end.

“Oh. I see.” Once the top button was undone, he opened the shirt wide, sighing his appreciation of Bodie’s neck and collar-bones and broad chest, hands exploring with a firm, confident touch that made Bodie sigh in his turn. Then down, opening more buttons—tracing the arch of the base of the rib-cage, skittering then soothing the vulnerable stomach, finding the start of the pubic hair.

No more buttons. The prince knelt, his hands on Bodie’s hips, and Bodie’s breathing became even louder and faster. He gasped, though, when the prince leaned forward and pressed the cold smoothness of the mask against his stomach—they never did anything like this in the tapes. He cupped the prince’s skull with both hands, moved by the softness of the hair, the warmth.

The right hand was sliding from his hips, thumb leading the way between his legs. It found his straining cock and he cried out—it mapped the hard, mobile curves through the taut black wool, and he began to plead. Both hands freed him, gentle as they opened his trousers and let them drop, and as they lifted his Y-fronts away and pushed them down—all by feel, as the prince’s face was still pressed against Bodie’s stomach.

A groan from Bodie as his length was taken in a tight grasp—partly relief, partly at the new level of torment—and at that the prince’s head finally lifted… and they both gazed at the big erection and the encircling hands.

“Canta!” The fervent tone made the meaning clear. The hands released Bodie, presumably to give a better view, and then they started exploring and probing, apparently fascinated by their first human cock. His balls, his hair, the joining with the torso, the crown, the foreskin, the slit, the veins—all received attention, and, from the indistinct gasping comments, all received approval. Bodie found the inspection unnerving at first, but soon simply exciting.

Eventually it was over and the prince’s hands were resting on Bodie’s hips. Bodie found himself urging his hips forward, wanting the fingers to slide round and squeeze his buttocks, wanting them to push into him. The prince wasn’t taking the hint, had even lifted one hand away to circle him again, and far, far too gently.

“No. No. Here.” He lifted the hand back to his hip, pushed both of them around where he wanted them. “Touch me here. And touch me inside.”

He’d been expecting another painstaking exploration, but instead the fingers dove immediately for the cleft, searched purposefully, and then one pressed slowly into him. He was dry, and it was hard work for both of them. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. I want it all the way in.”

“I won’t stop. I know what you want.” The prince’s face was pressed to Bodie’s groin now, the mask hard against the side of his cock.

In fact, they had not reached the second knuckle when Bodie gave a hoarse groan and started a rapid thrusting of his hips. Then he stopped abruptly, and seconds later was pushing the prince away by his shoulders.

“Too much?”

“Uh.” He was nodding his head.

“Should I pull out now? Or wait.”

“Oh.” Bodie’s muscles clenched of their own accord around the finger, and he gave another groan. “Now. Be quick.” Quick was painful enough to be distracting, and, of course, soon over. Once released, he dropped to his knees next to the prince, and curved his hand around a strong thigh with the intent of wordless reassurance while he waited for the heat to recede.

* * * * *

“I’m sorry about that.” His hand was moving on the thigh now: first a small circling with his thumb which changed to slow strokes along the length.

“If it hadn’t been you it would have been me.” Both of the prince’s hands settled on his, not pressing, but stilling it just the same.

“What now?” He hadn’t intended it as a joke, but as soon as it was out they both laughed.

“Well, what would be the next step towards me buggering you senseless?”

“Mmm.” Considering. “Might be an idea for you to get your trousers down. After that, we might have to consult the manual.”

“Or the Interface department.” After the laughter: “This isn’t how I imagined this at all. I thought it would be so solemn. Even with - All hushed silence. Anything but you and your bloody jokes.”

“Oh.” Hurt. “You should have said.” He raised his head to a dignified angle and laid his right hand over the mouth of the mask. A few moments later it was drawn away as the prince knelt close so that their masks kissed, and then the prince was on his feet and unfastening his trousers.

“Bodie?” Bodie blinked and closed his gaping mouth, wondering vaguely how much time he’d let pass. “I know it’s… Is it -” The prince cried out as Bodie’s arms wrapped around his hips and Bodie’s masked face pressed against him in frantic, feverish movement driven by the need to claim each last square millimetre.

Finally, Bodie drew back, and just looked. He realised now that all the others he’d ever seen, including his own, had been only a vague attempt at the idea of “cock”—this was the finished, crafted version. It wasn’t that it was huge—his own was probably longer, though he wasn’t in a state to be objective—but every aspect was just that much more clearly defined and the cumulative effect was astonishing. He’d had it in his hand, against his belly, and for all these weeks he hadn’t even known the extent of that good fortune.

Not taking his eyes off it, he started shouldering out of his jacket, and in the next instant the two of them were undressing with desperate haste. Bodie finished first and immediately arranged himself face-down on the bed, presenting himself for penetration with raised hips and spread legs. Head tilted to the side, he watched the prince tugging off his shirt, and his anus, cock and heart blazed and swelled at the sight until he had to close his eyes and look away.

The prince was on the bed now, kneeling behind him. He turned his head, but the mask cut the prince from his field of view, so he closed his eyes again, and let his head rest of the pillow.

A light touch to the entrance, an impression of cold. He moaned and spread his legs wider, and a lubricated finger pressed in. It withdrew far too quickly, but then there was more cold and the finger was back, working the lubricant into him. Then more cold and then two fingers. His moans had become almost continuous, and then he had the cock pushing inside him inch by inch, and soon his moans turned liquid and guttural and incredulous. It was as if he’d never been fucked before, as if his arse had never known what it was to be filled. For this cock he’d become a virgin again, and now was being reworked still further, transformed into alien prince, into alien god, into the eternal partner for the one perfected cock.

* * * * *

Bodie knew by the rawness of his throat that he must have screamed during the orgasm. He would have sworn that it had lifted him three feet off the bed… that the cock had doubled its size during each contraction. And now the come inside him seemed like a tidal river, seemed to be spreading its simmering warmth steadily deeper and deeper along his guts.

Maybe they’d both screamed. Very likely they had.

* * * * *

The prince was still half-hard—and his breathing still very ragged—when he lifted his weight from Bodie’s back and slowly pulled out. Bodie gave a long, wavering sigh. Then the mattress shifted and he felt something cold press against the edge of his right ear.

“Tell me it was the best you’ve ever known. Tell me.”

Bodie swallowed and moistened his lips, not hesitant, just uncertain of his voice.

“Tell me.”

“Yes. It was. It was.”

“Now tell me it was as if no one else had ever touched you.”

“Dear Christ. You know it was.”

“I am your first then. And your last. As you are _my_ first and _my_ last.”

“Yes.”

“Then this is a pairing such as that of Udom Kol and Embrun. This is the true pairing.” From the fall to the prince’s voice, Bodie gathered that the ritual was over. He guessed that the man would head to the right, and, on feeling the start of movement in that direction, rolled onto his left side—with a pause to suppress a gasp at the sensations that flared between his legs: a welcome reminder rather than any real pain, but they encouraged caution.

With barely a pause, the prince grasped his mask by the chin. “It’s time, Bodie.” Once Bodie had taken grip: “Now.”

And then they were looking at one another as individuals, their public duties over.

Bodie had given some planning to this moment: how he would control his reaction, no matter what, aiming for quiet, wondering delight; how he would reach out and caress the cheek and lips and then lean forward to kiss. As it turned out, it took him a good five seconds to think about closing his mouth.

Should he have guessed? Maybe. In his head, there were exasperated Scottish noises in Cowley’s voice. But he couldn’t think of any moment when he would have made the connection. Except… his instant response to the walk, to the wicked, knowing hips. He could see now that his senses had been primed.

He reached out and their lips met, and he knew that, yes, this was how he’d thought it would be if he and that sexy little bastard from the Foreign Office had slipped away from the reception, found an empty office. And they would have, given another few minutes, a second meeting. After Bodie was called away, he’d thought, “He’ll be at the de-briefing. He’ll follow me home. Or I’ll follow him home. Jesus, it’ll be electric.” But of course he wasn’t, and he never appeared again, though Bodie had certainly looked for him. Had he said he was with the Office? Or had Bodie just assumed from the perfect English and that bone-deep, empire-spanning self-regard? Bodie hadn’t even asked his name.

“What did you do that evening? After the first time we talked. After I had to leave.”

“I went back to my cabin. And I thought about… finding an empty cabin on the middle deck. About what I’d say to get you to go down there with me. We’d be in there for days.”

“I thought you were with the Foreign Office. I thought you’d be at the de-briefing back home. I was so sure we’d be spending the night together.”

The prince closed his eyes briefly, nodding. “Yes, when I came back later, in Udom Kol, I could feel it boiling off you. And I thought, ‘I have to have him. I think I’ll die if I don’t.’ And when you were all gone, I checked the allocations on the computer, I found a cabin. Number eighty five. I went to have a look at it, to start planning properly. The bed was small, but… And I swear I could _smell_ you, in there with me. I couldn’t bear to leave. I dreamed about you all night.”

“Same here.”

“But the next day I couldn’t get near you. I sat and looked at you and I wasn’t hearing anything that was going on. I could not. Think. Of anything else. Then when we were having our evening meal in the mask galley, Malun asked me what the hell was the matter with me.”

“And the rest is history.” It must have been that next day, then, that Malun had sought Bodie out. So only the next day. Bodie’s grasp of time had not been good then, all events taking their measure from the last smile he’d received from that unique mouth.

* * * * *

Eventually they broke apart and lay side by side with their heads on the same pillow, their legs entwined, and their hands sometimes still and claiming, sometimes drifting and exploring. There were words—murmurs of admiration, contentment, relief—though the feelings would have been obvious even without them, expressed in touch and gaze.

Bodie wondered how long it would take him to get used to seeing the prince’s face. He’d be watching his hand on the man’s body and then he’d look up and he’d find himself smiling in amazement all over again. There was surprise at not seeing the mask, at seeing _that_ face when hope had long gone cold, at finding its beauty and provocation so far beyond his memories, at discovering the expressions that went with the various shades of voice and posture that he’d come to know over the last weeks. Maybe he’d have it under control by the time they got home. And was it the same for the prince? Similar, certainly similar.

A trickle of semen ran out of him and he gave an involuntary shiver at the tickling sensation.

“Are you cold?”

“No, I -” Another trickle. “Maybe it’s time for a shower.”

The prince surveyed his own body. “You could be right. And change the bedding before we start again.”

Even if Bodie had managed to suppress his gasps as he clambered off the bed, his hobbling steps to the bathroom would have given him away. “I’m sorry. I -” The prince was touching his arm, radiating concern and guilt.

“ _I’m_ not. I’m hoping you’ll keep me in this state for the rest of my life.”

What an achievement, to be responsible for such a laugh, to be the one to replace guilt so swiftly with radiant lust. They were both half-erect when they entered the bathroom, and the act of washing each other completed the process in a very short time.

In the moments when Bodie was free to think, he felt a mild apprehension—it was supposed to be his turn next, and he knew he could not give the prince quite what the prince had given him. Not that the prince had shown anything but delight so far at the sight and feel of Bodie’s cock, but if he was used to his own kind…

As it turned out, it was nobody’s turn. They moved into an embrace that brought their cocks together, and the kiss and the thrusting of their hips were too good to stop or even to think about stopping. No screams this time—Bodie drank the prince’s sighs and moans and could feel each of them separately as they sank down into his chest and then became part of him.

* * * * *

“I’ll change the bedding. There should be…” The prince was on his knees at the end of the bed, pulling open one of the drawers set in the base. Bodie started picking up clothes. He hung his suit up, shoved the shirt and underwear in the drawer he used for laundry, folded the prince’s clothes with care and, in the absence of a chair or any other suitable surface, placed them in a spare drawer. Or should he just hang them up with his own?

“Do you - Are you going to move in here? What do your people normally do? Or should I move in with you?”

“I want to move in here.”

“Yes. Are there rules? Do we have to wait?”

“No rules, but… at the moment I can’t imagine putting clothes between me and you. Not being able to reach out and…” His hand closed gently around Bodie’s softened cock, then Bodie reached out in turn. They entwined themselves as tight as their combined strengths could achieve, welcoming the bruising, and believing beyond truth that this kiss would never end.

* * * * *

Hours passed. Now the prince was curled over Bodie, his head on Bodie’s chest and his eyes closed. He was motionless apart from his smile, which recognised only the slow movements of Bodie’s fingers through his hair.

“Are we supposed to get up and see the family or anything? Show them some proof that we’ve been a good Udom Kol and Embrun?”

“We’ve been bloody astounding. No, Malun might slip a note under the door if they haven’t seen us after a week, but apart from that…”

“Suppose we’ll have to go out for food. The stuff I’ve got in the kitchen won’t last us long.”

“Sneak out in the middle of the night.”

“We’re going to be able to eat together.”

“I know. I’ve been looking forward to that nearly as much as the sex.”

Bodie snorted, but another thought had already distracted him. “Will they be talking about us, the family?”

“Maybe. Not Malun, but probably the ones that’re interested in sex.”

And that wasn’t all of them? “D’you think they’re… wondering what it’s like with a human?” Bodie tensed as he asked the question, but he had to know. His was nothing to the prince’s sudden tension, though—Bodie felt the flexing of the jaw-muscles against his chest. “Sorry, I - I thought they were OK with it.”

A rasping sigh. “The ones that matter _are_. It’s just - I’ve just now _really_ taken in what that - that leket said. At the ceremony. If I thought anyone else had heard him -” His clenched fists dug into Bodie’s sides.

“Hey.” Bodie’s hands moved soothingly. ‘Leket’ wasn’t a word he knew, but who else could make Ray this angry? “He doesn’t matter. You’ve known all your life he doesn’t matter.”

“But it’s - He’s _obscene_. He’s not fit to wear any of the mabein if he can - If he clearly doesn’t _understand_  - Though… and this doesn’t excuse him, and he doesn’t _deserve_ to understand… it was -” His tone turned to wonder in the space of a breath. “Oh, Bodie, it was so much more than I’d been expecting. It was - I _knew_ that the two of us, our joining, was the most important thing in the universe, that it _was_ what made the sun come up and the fishes spawn. I finally realised that the stories could not _have_ any other form. I think I was screaming at the end. I _wanted_ witnesses.”

“I felt… It felt as if I’d never been fucked before. Even - God, this is going to sound stupid, but -” Bodie was blushing fiercely, though he could not imagine the prince being shocked by this—or by anything else concerning the two of them. “As if I hadn’t even realised I had an arsehole until you were there inside it. And I _know_ I was screaming.”

The prince was kneeling over him, studying his face intently. They were both becoming aroused again. “Really?” A soft question that suggested it would be content with any answer. “You’re not saying that just because of their story?”

“I don’t know any of the stories, do I?”

“No? Oh, Bodie.” Fingers traced the planes of Bodie’s face, followed soon by lips. The prince returned again and again to Bodie’s mouth, seeming captivated by the simple act of entry, and by the sight and feel of saliva-wetted lips. Bodie closed his eyes, finding that it made the sensations even sweeter, and easier to accept for their own sake—like this, he could lie content under the prince’s hands for hours, in control of the urge to suck the tongue deeper and to devour.

The arousal continued to build, though slowly, and eventually the prince’s needs changed, and he started to encourage a response from Bodie’ mouth. After that, it was not long until they were both breathing hard and the scent of their sweat emerged over that of the cleanser they had used in the shower.

“Bodie.” A gasp. The prince had rolled away onto his back, and was lying with one knee raised, and with his buttocks held apart by one hand. “Bodie. I have to have you. I think I’ll die if I don’t.”

“Where’s the stuff? What you used with me.”

“In the jacket. The pocket inside. In the lining.”

It was a sachet made of supple, blue-grey foil. “You only brought two? I take back what I said about planning.”

The prince groaned. “I never thought Malun would agree so quickly. They were all I had in my cabin. I mean, when I packed, I didn’t think I was even going to need that.”

“Another midnight raid on the stores, then.”

The gel was clear, colourless, and seemed very, very cold. It had been many years since Bodie had been inside a man and been able to see his face. It took more preparation, more initial effort, but God it was worth it. Why hadn’t he done this more often? Why? He didn’t even use to think about it.

It seemed in the far distant past, now, that time when he’d expected all of his sex with men to be done standing up. This was a new life, with new rules, and even sweeter pleasures.

* * * * *

“I notice you didn’t scream.” Mock-reproof.

“Couldn’t get enough breath for it!”

“Hmm. Of course, I’ll be convinced for the rest of my life that one of _your_ men could have made you scream.” If he’d still had his earlier doubts about the quality of his plain, human cock, he wouldn’t have been able to joke about it. “When you came in me, I could feel it all the way up to my throat.”

“Yeah, it’s certainly dramatic, isn’t it? But I preferred it before, when I was younger. Felt more natural. I think the change is… well, ugly. Ridiculous. I’m glad your people don’t go through it. Though I would have got used to feeling you nearly blow my head off. You like it, though?”

“God.”

“Most men seem to. I got invited to a lot of parties.” They laughed, and all Bodie’s doubts vanished into the distance of his past.

* * * * *

Around midnight, they decided to go next door and fetch some basic supplies for the prince. For the journey, Bodie found a tracksuit for each of them, needing to ensure that they could be naked again in the shortest time. The prince said that they still had to wear their masks: “Though now it’s because we’re both members of the family. Not because of the betrothal.”

Bodie had spent very little time in the prince’s cabin. “Are you one of those naturally tidy people? Is the flat like this?”

A bark of laughter. “The flat’s a disgrace. You’d better start now, practising to be polite about it. I never felt comfortable here, that’s why it looks like this.”

In the bedroom, the prince wasted no time in sorting out a small collection of clothes. On a whim, Bodie opened the wardrobe, looking for the light-grey suit that the man from the Foreign Office had worn. He stroked the lapels, then the lining.

“You do that incognito stuff a lot, do you?”

“Not really. Malun suggested it, and I - Well, I’d been wearing the mask almost every waking hour for days. I’d had enough.”

“Had you noticed me before?”

“Oh, yes. From the first briefing we had, when Malun was taking us through the tapes, making us learn who was who. I thought, ‘I wouldn’t mind getting _him_ alone in an access well.’ And you looked even better each time I saw you after that. That evening, though, I didn’t set out to look for you. I turned around, and there you were.”

“I spent the next few days looking for _you_. Well, for the bloke in this suit.” He lifted the arm a few inches then released it.

“I thought you did. I could tell you weren’t hearing anything that was going on, either. But by the time Malun let me come back, I knew, I knew, you realised who I was. Malun, of course, said we shouldn’t even formally tell you who when I made the offer. Since you weren’t a member of the family. As if you didn’t already know. I think I told him not to be so fucking stupid, and if he’d ever done more than -” He cleared his throat. “I think he saw my point.”

So. That was good and clear. Everyone in the universe thought that Bodie should have guessed.

* * * * *

Back in the living area and halfway to the door, the prince suddenly stopped. “I just thought… You’re allowed into the mask galley now. I can unlock your door.” He turned and made for the blank wall at the far side of the room. Bodie followed him, reaching him as he was pulling back the panel that covered the door to the family’s corridor.

“Great! We can go this way. No more masks.”

The prince turned with his hand poised over the keypad, shaking his head. “It has to be unlocked from both sides. I should have done it before we left.”

“Oh.” Bodie wandered back to the other door. The “secret” door had closed behind the prince, so he couldn’t even watch the corridor for his first glimpse of another unmasked royal. Probably just as well for now.

The prince didn’t take long, and soon they were in Bodie’s bedroom packing away clothes, and then placing the prince’s toiletries next to Bodie’s in the bathroom—a sight which made Bodie feel that he must have been a romantic all these years, after all, since surely these nest-building urges couldn’t just appear over-night. Strange what the word “married” could do to you.

“What about putting some of my pictures up in here? We’ve got another five or six weeks still to go. I feel like settling in. Breaking open some of my supplies.”

“Me too. I’ll get the frames tomorrow. Or we could do it now. We need to go out and get some lubricant, anyway.”

“And some food. No, leave the frames for a day or two.”

There was a night shift, but it wasn’t in evidence—playing cards in the engine room, probably. They went down to the middle deck first to collect a box of lubricant from the Staff Shop. It was all automated, and the box came down the moving belt about two minutes after the prince had keyed in the order. There was a range of food in the galley, though much smaller than during the day, and with most of the main dishes packaged to be reheated. They took some bread, soft cheese and fruit, suitable for breakfast or for pangs of hunger in the middle of the night.

Once back in Bodie’s cabin, they decided to stay dressed for a while yet. The prince changed the bed-covers while Bodie made a pot of coffee, poured generous scotches, and opened the last box of florentines. With one of Bodie’s records playing in the background, they tried the couch for a while, then slid to the floor. They fed one another, and kissed, and explored the contours covered by the tracksuit, and kissed, and trickled scotch into one another’s mouths, and kissed.

“Oh, God.” Bodie touched his fingers briefly to the prince’s lips, then laid them gently on his throat. “If you hadn’t already drained me dry, I’d have come all over you, just watching you drink. You’ve got the sexiest mouth I’ve ever seen.”

A smile that made Bodie’s innards forget that they were mere flesh. “I can’t decide what it is that captures me most. Your eyes… or your lips… or your hair… or the line of your jaw.” Shaking his head: “You _are_ too beautiful.” Another kiss, possibly the most lingering and tender yet.

* * * * *

Eventually, they went to bed. They undressed one another slowly, then slid, naked, under the covers. After Bodie had turned off the main lights, they lay together in the blue dimness, talking quietly. The prince was the first to fall asleep, and Bodie remained awake only for long enough to contemplate the next day—and week—and month like this, and to know that he was happier than he had ever been or had ever imagined he could be.

* * * * *

It wasn’t the soundest night’s sleep Bodie had ever had. The prince didn’t exactly snore, but he had flurries of noisy breathing throughout the night. Bodie knew he would get used to it, work it into his own dreams soon enough, and it certainly wasn’t the worst way to be woken up. Even without it, his mind would probably have kept on jerking him awake, insisting on yet another review of the events of the last few hours.

However, a deep sleep came towards the end of the night, and when he woke, the main lights were on, though dimly, and the prince was watching him. He reached out, matching the smile, and when they settled to making love, it was similar to that first night on board, in the cabin next door.

Afterwards they lay side by side, barely touching. Bodie was the first to speak. “I keep wondering when you’re going to tell me that I have to go. That we have to wait.”

“Oh, don’t remind me.” There was a real note of distress in the prince’s sigh. “I don’t know how I found the strength then. I could never find it now. Tell you to go?” He closed his eyes and then smiled. “You know, this isn’t how I thought I would feel at all. I thought it was supposed to make you feel… settled. Placid. As if the rest of your life had just been written for you. The way you wanted it, but - And I don’t feel anything like that. I feel… impossibly young. And as if anything, anything might happen. I feel totally free.” A long, blissful sigh. “Which is it for you?”

“The same.” The simplest answer and true to the spirit of the prince’s question. Bodie wasn’t ready to think about the idea any more than that.

“Yes. Maybe this _is_ how it feels for everyone, but - No, I think it’s just down to you.” He turned his head and pressed his lips to Bodie’s shoulder. “You’re not exactly tame, are you, my human?”

* * * * *

They drowsed until the prince got hungry and went to fetch some of the fruit, then fed each other slices and cleaned each other of juice. Then drowsing again. When Bodie next looked over at his watch, he found it was mid-morning; there was no sign, not even sounds of activity from the corridor.

“Does it get you down? Not having a window. Not having a proper day and night?” He was curious. Maybe 300 years had been enough for all of the prince’s people to adjust completely.

“I hate it. Been thinking about my room at home. Us watching the dawn together. Waking up there for the first time. Taking you breakfast on the balcony.”

“You’ve got a balcony?”

“A small one. I wonder how my plants are doing. They should have got some rain out there, at least.”

“Will you have to go back to work straight away?” Depressing question—why couldn’t he have forgotten about all that for another month? It was the mention of breakfast, which to him equalled a slice of toast eaten on the stairs on the way to the car.

The prince had raised his head from the pillow. “I think they’ll give me another month or so. Under the circumstances.”

“When you tell them you’ve married an eslin.” It was their word for “alien” or “foreigner”.

A shrug. “Married someone from out of town.”

“You gonna keep it secret, then?”

“Well… I don’t want to make a big deal of it, because it isn’t. Not compared with everything else that comes with a pairing. And I don’t think you’d really want the attention, either.”

“Shy Bodie, that’s me.”

“But it’s…” He sighed deeply. “Everything with the family is so complicated. And with my family, too. You see, it’s not… absolutely compulsory, but we’re happiest if the person who wears Udom Kol and the person who wears Embrun are actually married to one another. And since my mother insists that I wear Udom Kol -”

“Everyone will be happiest if I start wearing Embrun. Once we get home, presumably.”

A nod.

“Including you?”

“I…” He paused for some seconds with his mouth open. “I think it’s a completely unreasonable thing to ask of you. But I also think it’s right. And… I’d be so proud to make the appearances with you. But nobody would blame you if you said no.”

“What are these appearances, then?”

“Well, the main ones for us mark our marriage and the births of our children and our death. They take place in the palace in Monor. That’s where the business is based. Monor, that is, not the palace. And we come out in the masks and say the lines, and that’s that. Doesn’t take more than about five minutes each time.”

“What sort of lines?”

“Well, like…” and the prince looked into Bodie’s eyes and on the next four long breaths spoke quietly and rhythmically in his own language. When he was finished he closed his eyes briefly and swallowed, clearly moved.

Bodie had understood maybe two words in each breath and he was on the verge of panic. “Jesus, Ray. I can’t -”

A resigned nod. “It terrifies most people. No one would blame you.”

“And would it even count, with me being human? I don’t see how it could _work_.”

“We usually think of Udom Kol as being Hailin, but Embrun definitely wasn’t. It would work, all right. And I can help you learn the lines. I know we can do it. But… you’re going to say them with an accent that none of our people has ever had. Which is what makes everything so complicated.”

“So people are going to know I’m human the moment I open my mouth.”

“Not one of us, anyway. Of course, we get visitors, but once people know that you’re married to a Hailin, then… who else could you be? And who else could I be?”

“We couldn’t bring in some decoys, could we?”

“Oh, Bodie.” The prince laughed with a mixture of delight and relief, and tightened the arm around Bodie’s waist. Bodie’s smile was uneven—he hadn’t realised that his suggestion was so obviously ridiculous. “It’s not that it would make life difficult. No one would even admit that they knew. And it would be _right_ , in so many ways. I don’t know. Even if you say no, it’ll be - I don’t know.”

“Complicated. So if I do say no, what happens?”

“Unless my mother’s changed her mind, I’ll keep on wearing Udom Kol.”

“And who’ll be Embrun?”

“Pierce, same as now. She’s in charge of the spaceport back home.”

“Why didn’t she come along on this?”

“She’s got work to do. Work that Malun recognises, that is. There’s been a deputy back home to make my appearances with her.”

“You’ll have to go on more contact missions, won’t you? How often is that going to be?”

“Never, now that I’m married. It would be bloody ridiculous. The two of us are desperate to get home already.”

“But don’t they need you to get through the jump points and everything? Stop the planet whizzing off.”

“It doesn’t have to be me. Udom Kol. They can do perfectly well without bringing in anyone from outside the business. I’m here on this one because my mother and Malun got very -” He clenched his teeth, then shook his head sharply. “Well. No more. And she’d want me to stay home, too, now. And Malun can say what he fucking well likes.”

“I want to work, you know. If we’re going through all the complications. I’m not gonna sit at home and make jam or anything like that.”

A snort of amusement. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been thinking about it. But let’s wait and see what you make of the place. Pointless making plans from here.”

Bodie had been expecting scepticism, maybe protests about the police salary being quite enough for two—anything but simple acceptance. Maybe all of the complications would melt away that easily.


	7. Chapter 6

## Chapter 6

Afterwards, it seemed to Bodie that they spent all of the next two weeks in their cabin. He knew that they left it several times a day—to go to the galley or the gym—but the only minutes that seemed entirely real to him were those that he spent with the prince in his arms.

When they did start to emerge properly, to talk to other people, even, it wasn’t because the obsession had calmed. It was more that their bodies had finally accepted that the other _would_ always be there, that there was no need to hoard or to treat every touch as if it might be the last.

Before, Bodie had imagined that they would use the secret door a lot: hang out in the mask galley; roam the ship as themselves for hours, enjoying the freedom. As it turned out, they visited the mask galley only to be polite—or, rather, to reduce the chance that the family would drop in on them—and they soon realised that their use of English and their transparently besotted state made them too conspicuous to appear much as themselves. For a few days Bodie was tempted to suggest they go back to wearing the masks, but he was happy enough with the solutions they found: there were activities which suited silence, and times and places where they would not be overheard, and there was always, always their cabin.

For Bodie, the biggest adjustment was in getting used to seeing the members of the family engaged in work or play as themselves. Malun was, of course, the admiral, who he’d seen on a couple of their rare visits to the bridge. It had been a fairly safe guess before, but it made a surprising difference to _know_ and to be one of a handful on board who did know. It kept on giving him a jolt. _He’s a king. My new uncle’s a king._ Very strange thoughts for a dockworker’s son.

He was still getting the jolts by the time they came through the last jump point and were only two weeks from Pen Embrun—which meant they were finally able to send messages home.

“Has it been announced yet? That Udom Kol is married?”

“No. It doesn’t work like that. We don’t make announcements. What happens is that the masks are kept in a display cabinet at the palace, and when we get back they’ll be put together so they’re touching. The word will get around.”

“What about you? As yourself. Has that been announced?”

“It’s been filed.” The prince seemed rather tense.

“So the people you work with, everyone can find out from that.”

“Not really. It’s been filed as maximum privacy. It just gives our names and the date and location. Malun put your name in as the names that sound closest, so no one could even tell from that. And he’s started getting you processed as a citizen, which he says is likely to take weeks.”

Things seemed promising to Bodie, but the prince’s tension remained as they closed the distance. Bodie decided to leave him to sort it out for himself for the time being: they didn’t need another session of kicking the problems back and forth; they needed to get home and realise that they weren’t worth calling problems after all.

* * * * *

The day before they were due to arrive, they packed up their cabin and checked the containers in with the appropriate Cargo section. The containers would be transported to the prince’s flat, while the items on Bodie’s shopping list—still in the holds apart from one case of beer and another of coffee—would be put into storage. The two of them would be transported, as themselves, directly to the flat, leaving the masks in their special cabinet in the mask galley. When they were discussing the arrangements, the prince had shown genuine shock when a remark of Bodie’s had implied that they might take the masks back to the flat. Udom Kol in a private setting? Not at _any_ time, and how could there be any reason?

They came within sight of the planet at about four in the morning, ship’s time. Both wanted to see the approach, the prince most of all. There was no sign of any tension now, nothing but excitement at the idea of presenting his planet to his husband. The observation lounge turned out to be empty, proving that this event was routine to everyone but themselves. They had been prepared to sit in silence, limited to holding hands, but this would be a great improvement. They settled on a couch by the window to kiss and wait.

From a distance, it looked very much like Earth, with the same pattern of blue water and white clouds, but after half an hour Bodie could see that there were, indeed, no continents, just clusters of islands. Some of the clusters extended for thousands of miles, mostly in a north-south direction, and as far as he could see they were all darkly green with vegetation.

The prince’s island, Roslin, was in the southern hemisphere, towards the end of a south-easterly branching off the Ikara group. The island itself was small and even the prince couldn’t make it out, but Tenna, the nearest mainland, was clear enough. Their home was just off the eastern coast.

Bodie’s excitement now matched the prince’s. The adventure had finally become real to him. Soon, very soon, he would be the first human to set foot on another planet, to make a life for himself among these strange (though friendly) people. He could write a book. He could become famous back on Earth. And he didn’t care now who knew the reason he’d left Earth, since he’d never see the place again.

As usual with him, the excitement soon centred between his legs, aided by the knowledge of why he was here. “Ray. Ray.” The wonderful cock responded immediately to the weight and heat of his hand. “I want to suck you off. Please.”

No comment about exhibitionist tendencies, no hesitation. The prince unfastened his trousers and Bodie moved to kneel on the floor between the wide-spread legs. He loved this as much as anything else they did together, although it never came close to making him come. It was a subtler pleasure: feeling each pulse of blood that stretched his mouth wider and wider, feeling the emergence of the veins under his tongue, knowing to the second the moment when the prince became incapable of thought. All his doing. All for him, and only him.

Afterwards, the prince slid to the floor beside him, and they both brought Bodie to a slow climax, sometimes kissing, sometimes tending and admiring the hard flesh beneath their hands, sometimes watching through long minutes as the next moon emerged. The moons were different sizes and different shades of sulphurous yellow. The first sight of an eruption—on the dark side of Bisha, the largest—was the boost to Bodie’s excitement that made orgasm inevitable.

They stayed on the floor, legs entwined, groins and stomachs still bared. Over the next half hour, the ship moved over the nightside of the planet, still fast, but slowing noticeably, then inside the orbit of the smallest, closest moon, then back to the dayside of the planet, near the edge of sunset. And here it entered its own orbit, over a large cluster of islands centred on the equator. The Ikara group was visible some thousands of miles over to the east.

“Atessa, Ray.” It was the simplest form of “Welcome home” and Bodie had done his very best with the accent.

“Oh, Bodie.” A slow pressure of lips at the corner of his mouth. “Atessa. I will make you happy here. You know there’s nothing that’s more important to me.”

“I know. I know.” He turned his head, seeking the lips, tasting them with his tongue before pressing deeper, and thinking of surging, endless oceans, of a warm, sunlit blue that filled the horizon. Finally: “Can we go now? Will there be anyone in the transporter room? Or do we have to wait until the next shift?”

“We can go now. I checked.”

Bodie nodded and they both got to their feet and dealt with their clothes. A brief detour to the cabin to collect their bags, and then they were in the transporter room. There were two people on duty, dealing entirely with containers at this stage. They had a brief wait for a pad to come free, then they were into the bureaucratic checks, and minutes later they were standing in a sunny, low-ceilinged, L-shaped room. At least this time Bodie had been expecting the absence of drama.

Windows. Plenty of windows. And the promised balcony, visible through the set of double doors in the middle of the longest wall. Bodie walked towards the doors, past a large green armchair. He was beginning to get an impression of sparkling seas and a background of islands when his attention was wrenched away by the sound of the prince swearing violently in his own language. The cause was an overturned plant pot that was lying on the floor to the right of the doors. The prince had knelt over it, and was now righting the pot and tending to the unhappy-looking plant. He was still swearing when Bodie knelt and started helping return the soil to the pot.

“D’you reckon the cat knocked it over, or something?” It wasn’t intended as a sensible suggestion. Who would go away for four months leaving a cat by itself? Not that they’d have cats here, anyway.

Bodie wasn’t entirely surprised when the prince answered only with a snarl of denial, and he simply leaned to make way when the man leapt to his feet and began a purposeful tour of the room. Now that Bodie was no longer dazzled by the sun and was able to look around properly, he could see that this was not the only overturned pot. In fact, it was the luckiest, since most of the others were broken.

Burglars? Unlikely, since the rest of the room showed only the clutter that Bodie now knew went with a comfortable Ray. Some gaps on the shelves, yes, but not the disorder you’d associate with a search—and a fair few of the remaining items were ones Bodie would have taken if he’d been burgling the place. Which suggested… Bodie had never owned a plant in his life, but it did now occur to him that you wouldn’t go away for four months without arranging for someone to come in and water them. The soil in his hands was still damp, so the damage must be recent. Since they’d come through the last jump point?

He dusted his hands off and got to his feet. The prince was at the far end of the room, opening another door onto the balcony, this one a single door. Bodie quickly followed him onto the balcony, had time to be astonished at the size of the L-shaped space—he’d seen gardens much smaller in London—and was then aware only of the wreckage that was heaped against the low walls, and scattered across the tiles and the furniture. The prince was silent now.

“Oh, Ray.” Bodie stood behind him and held him close, and was relieved to feel him lean back and rest his hands on the encircling arms. “You’ve got someone very angry with you.”

“Tell me about it.” Silence and then a small grunt. “I’m trying to tell myself it’s not as bad as I expected but -” A ragged sigh. “I should have come down first. Checked everything.”

“So who was it?”

“Gavio.”

“Gavio? I don’t remember you mentioning him.”

“No. Well. He was sort of living here with me.”

“Until you sent him a message saying you’d married me. And he’d have to move out.”

A slow nod.

“Did he write back?”

The prince pulled away and turned to face Bodie, meeting his eyes only intermittently. “Yeah. He was… stunned. I was hoping he’d stay stunned until after he’d moved out. I’d -” He shook his head. “I’d forgotten about him. Except to hope he was looking after -” A vague movement of the hand. “I know it looks bad.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened. Were you - Was it serious between you?”

“We’d both have said so. There was about a year to go until he qualified, and after that it seemed certain that we’d get married. Everyone thought we would. They were also taking bets on how soon we’d have to separate. So were we but… oh, the sex was good and who cares about the odd screaming row.” His mouth twisted. “When I set off we even joked about Malun hoping I’d get caught by some man in the crew.”

“Did you tell him… who I am?”

“I said I’d met you while I was away. I did try - I think I tried to explain but… What can you say? ‘It happened.’ That’s all.”

Bodie nodded, frowning. He felt so sorry for this Gavio. Imagine being told that you would never have sex with the prince again. That he was now in love with somebody else. If it had happened to _him_ , he would have destroyed the flat, left it uninhabitable. He surveyed the wreckage again, and now it just looked sad and defeated.

“Are any of these plants going to make it? I don’t know enough to tell.” They went over to the main heap at the corner of the L, and the prince began the slow, careful work of extracting and assessing the victims. For a while, Bodie just watched, moved by the gentleness of the prince’s hands, and then started picking out the shards of pottery, and clearing the soil away and piling it up to the side.

There were five or six plants that might survive, and two pots intact. The prince sighed. “Well, to be honest, I wasn’t sure I’d see any of these again. He never could be trusted to water them.”

“Er. I can’t promise to do any better.”

Finally, a smile. “Doesn’t matter. Nothing’s going to keep me away from you for more than a day.” Their hands met and held: tight, damp and gritty, and a contact as sweet as a kiss. “I’m sorry about this. The way I’d planned it we’d - I should’ve come down first.”

“Nah. Had to be dealt with. Wouldn’t want you finding this on your own. Let’s see how bad things are inside and then go and buy some more pots. You’re probably out of food, too.”

They stood up, hands still clasped, and then Bodie’s jaw dropped as he took his first proper look at his surroundings. “It’s a pyramid!”

The prince was grinning. “Or a ziggurat, maybe, given the steps.” Their hands fell apart, and the prince stood back to enjoy Bodie’s reaction.

“How many levels has it got?”

“Ten levels of apartments. We’re on Level Six.”

“Wow.” Bodie craned his head back, and saw the levels above receding rapidly. Most of the balconies had some greenery trailing over their walls, and whoever lived at the top had taken it upon themselves to outdo all the rest combined. “Oh. Hang on. That’s the roof garden you mentioned, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Not anyone’s flat?”

“No. The gardener gets free accommodation here, though. Somewhere on the other side. Not one of the best.”

Bodie nodded and turned away from the building, looking out to sea. It reminded him of the west coast of Scotland, island after island stepping backwards bit by bit into the haze. There were boats on the water, a mixture of sizes and speeds.

“Is that a ferry?”

“Yeah, that’ll be the…” The prince glanced up at the sun. “…ten thirty to Dishna. Been running for over five hundred years. Well, not the same boat, obviously.”

“I thought it’d be all helicopters and little personal flyers.” Briefly, his hand demonstrated the swooping craft he’d imagined. There were a few small aircraft over the islands, true, and a larger one passing far overhead, but you’d see more traffic over London.

“If you’re Malun, sure. Not all of us insist we have to be everywhere _yesterday_.”

“How d’you get about here, then? D’you all cycle everywhere? Or is it donkey-carts or something?”

The prince laughed and patted Bodie’s arm. “I’ve never seen anyone so disappointed. Look, we’ll save up for a flyer, OK? When’s your birthday? Malun might give us one of his cast-offs.”

Bodie pouted extravagantly and hung his head. “Might as well have stayed at home. No peacocks. And a sad old ferry they wouldn’t even put on the Southend run.” Looking down, he could see a narrow, brilliant-white beach below them, and behind the beach a good expanse of well-kept grass which went right to the base of the pyramid. Further around to the side the grass was broken by a road and beyond that there was another pyramid—and probably another beyond that, but he couldn’t see from this angle. “Oh, you do have cars.” Instant, lively interest.

“And bikes. And donkey-carts. Sometimes we even walk.”

“No? What about you? ‘m I gonna have to balance on the carrier of your bike?”

They both burst out laughing at the image. “Nah. I’ve got a car. Almost wish I didn’t though. Bet you’d balance beautifully.”

Bodie looked out to sea, then up again at the roof garden. “This has gotta be one of the best flats in the building. On the corner, facing the sea. You must’ve paid a fortune.”

“It’s the best on this level, yeah, but this is one of the cheapest levels. They’re small flats. As you’ll see. Level One’s got family units that are three or four times the size.”

“How long’ve you been here?”

“Uh… Coming up for four years. Just after I qualified.”

Bodie made a slow survey of the 270 degree prospect from the balcony, nodding to himself, then turned to the prince. “It’s great. I love it. I could even get fond of the ferries.” The prince stepped forwards, arms outstretched, and they kissed for a long, long time.

* * * * *

Inside, the survivors numbered three plants and three pots in the living room, and only a single pot in the bedroom. Bodie tackled the worst of the soil with a dustpan and brush (thoroughly low-tech, except that the dustpan seemed to be made out of a single piece of moulded wood), while the prince made them a pot of very weak kenit and drew up a shopping-list.

After a quick shower and change of clothes, they settled at the table across from the kitchen area, Bodie sideways on in his chair with his back against the wall. Bodie had never had kenit without milk before, and even so weak as to be virtually colourless, it was bitter enough to be a severe challenge. Still, he liked it when filtered out in Ray’s sweat, so it might be worth developing a taste for the original.

“You know…” The prince was frowning, troubled. “I never asked - I never even wondered - Was there someone serious for _you_ , back on Earth?”

“God, no. I had a different woman every week.”

“Women?” Mild surprise.

“And the odd man, of course.” He quirked his eyebrows. “Very odd, sometimes.”

“So you weren’t making _any_ plans…?”

“Never thought about it.”

“Were you hoping it wouldn’t happen? There was a time when I…”

“Really, Ray, I just never thought about it. I don’t go in for this planning business. So you didn’t mess anything up, OK?”

“OK.” The frown was gone. “Find it hard to believe, though, that no one’d staked you out.”

“You’re biased.”

A slow shake of the head.

Seeing the prince had nearly finished his drink, Bodie peered at the shopping list—only a glance, since it was upside down and in Hass Embrun. “Where’re the shops? We gonna take the car?”

“We can get most of this on the ground level. The food, certainly. The nursery’s a few miles so we’d take the car, but… I’m thinking I might just get some basic pots for now. Which we can get downstairs. And then spend a few weeks thinking about a new design.”

“I’m never going to see this car, am I?”

“Bodie.” A warm hand covered his. “I will take you down right now. You can sit in it, play with all the switches you like. But I’m not driving until I’ve had a bit more sleep. This evening. We’ll go to Kumo up on the cliffs for dinner.”

“Well, alright.” The ultimate in heel-dragging. Then they grinned at one another. “There’s shops downstairs, then?”

“Yeah, these blocks are like little towns. Some people hate them but they’re not usually people who’ve lived in them.”

“Did you grow up somewhere like this?”

“Wish I had. No, we were far too rich. Nearest neighbours were five miles away.”

“On this island?”

“No. Artos. Where we came into orbit.”

“Is that where your mother is now?”

“Yeah, at Clover, our main house. My older sister Ferros—who wears Kamaran, for the floods?—she and her husband have been looking after her. And Malun said that Lamon, my younger sister, had moved back in since the babies were born.” The prince had mentioned, in passing, that they were now uncles. “I did wonder if having grandchildren would make any difference, make her change her mind about taking the drugs. But it hasn’t. Have you had this in your family?”

Bodie shook his head.

“Good. Sometimes I think, ‘Why us?’ but then again it hasn’t happened to us in generations, so I suppose you could say we were due.” The exhaustion in his voice showed that this acceptance was hard won.

“Are we going to visit her?”

“We ought to. Malun will probably try to arrange something for the whole family—so he doesn’t have to see her on his own. And maybe she finds that easier, too.” A deep sigh. “For as long as I can remember, they were the example everyone gave for _real_ twins. And they always called them Marat and Picton, but of course it should have been Nandan and Sadani.” A shift of tone. “The more I think about it, we’d be better going earlier. See her first.”

“How soon d’you want to go?”

A shrug. “Next week? It’s going to be bloody awful. You might as well start thinking now of ways I can make it up to you.”

“Well… Getting some milk?” Bodie lifted his barely-touched drink with a grimace.

“Uh. You hungry, too? ‘s coming up for our breakfast time.”

“Getting there, yeah.”

“OK. Let’s go, then.” The prince stood up and went to open some cupboards between the kitchen area and the main door to the living room. He took out two simple backpacks and passed one over to Bodie, then led the way into the small corridor that connected the three rooms of the flat. The front door was just outside the living room, set at an angle.

“Hang on.” The prince had paused with his hand lifted to the Open button. “I’d better change the code. In case he comes back.” For the new code, he chose the Earth date of their first meeting—easy for them to remember, but not guessable by anyone else.

The door opened onto the corner of a broad corridor with a hover-way at the far side. Each branch of the corridor seemed about a hundred yards long, with doors set in it every fifteen yards or so. The centre of the pyramid seemed to be hollow: beyond the hover-way was a chest-high wall, and beyond that Bodie could see the stacked levels of the opposite corner. Down here the lighting was artificial, though airy and well-concealed, but at the top levels there were skylights, and the light they admitted was dappled and green, beautiful on the weathered, pale-yellow stone. Bodie stood for several minutes, just staring, and the prince watched him with a smile.

“I take it you don’t want us to move _just_ yet.”

Bodie smiled back. “How old’s the building? Is this the latest design?”

“This one… coming up for two hundred years. Still a popular design around here, though.”

“Not surprised.”

Immediately in front of the door to the flat was a massive inclined pillar—presumably one of the main structural supports—and there were two man-sized panels set into it, looking very much like the doors of a lift, though at an angle. The prince pressed a button on a control panel that projected from the pillar, and then crossed his arms, obviously waiting.

“I guess there’s a lift at each corner.”

“Yeah. ‘ras lucelan’, we call them.”

“And stairs?”

“They’re on the outside, on the middle of each side. I’ve never had to use them.”

Bodie glanced in each direction along the empty corridor. “Is everyone at work? D’you see much of your neighbours?”

“Yeah, there’s no families on this level. Most just to say hi to, but I have made some friends. I’ll invite them round for a drink whenever you feel ready.”

“What’re they going to make of me?” Bodie’s wary question was drowned out by the long hiss as the doors of the lift opened. The inner doors turned out to be wedge-shaped blocks, not panels, cutting the angles off the space inside. A safer design, probably, reducing the chance of getting your head caught in the doors.

The journey to ground level was very quick, and at the bottom Bodie discovered that there was another set of doors on the opposite side of the cage. The prince led them through this second set of doors, and Bodie found himself in a busy marketplace echoing with the shrieks of children.

He would have given a lot for the chance just to stand and watch for as long as it took him to get a feel for the land—not that he felt that he was in enemy territory, but still… unprepared. Not possible, though, since it would have marked him out as a stranger, and the most important thing was that he fit in, that he show them all that he was completely in control.

“Food first?”

“Pots, I think. Get them sent up.”

Once away from the lift, Bodie saw that the entire pyramid was hollow inside, though by no means empty. There were buildings inside, some looking as if they were part of the original design, while others seemed to be later, almost random additions. The largest structures were two matching five-storey buildings with triangular bases. It was as if a smaller, solid pyramid had been built inside the hollow one, and then hacked away very methodically: wide trenches dug along the diagonals, cutting it onto wedge-shaped quarters, then two opposite quarters taken away, and then the tops sliced off.

The main corridors (or roads, really) ran past the walls of these buildings, and the prince was setting a brisk pace along the road that led from the lift. One of the vertical walls was to their right, and to their left was an open area dotted with one-storey buildings and open stalls and threaded by narrow, winding paths. This chaos made Bodie nervous and he turned his attention to the solidity of the building. There were shops at ground level—mostly clothes, from the brief glimpses he felt able to give—and several levels of windows above, with a range of size and positioning.

“Is it all shops in there?”

“No, just on this level. It’s mostly facilities for the building. The nursery for the children. The laundry. Meeting spaces. A gym. Offices. A small library. There are walkways across from the lower levels, though you can’t see them from here.”

“It _is_ like a village. What about a pub?”

A raised finger. “The level below the garden. The food’s OK, too. I tend to socialise more around work, though. Or I have in the past.”

They had arrived at the crossroads at the centre, where the tallest corners of the two large buildings faced one another. Looking up as they approached the bottleneck, Bodie saw walkways connecting the buildings at each storey. Obvious, but how many places back home might have missed that possibility?

A turn to the right, along the other vertical wall of the building. Ah, this seemed to be the food area. Through the windows, Bodie could see a large, brightly-lit space that to him screamed “supermarket”. He was so engrossed in searching for anything familiar—either from the ship or from Earth—that the prince had to tug at his arm when they reached the path for the pottery stall.

“Down here, Bodie. Don’t worry, we’ll be back there to get you some milk in a second.”

The man at the stall didn’t seem to know the prince, which was a great relief to Bodie who was not sure he was ready for his first introduction, certainly not here, with all these witnesses. The prince picked out ten round pots and four rectangular ones, all in a smoky, light-brown stone, then handed over a card. When the payment had been cleared, the prince next handed over a couple of small tags he’d taken from a pocket in his bag, and as they walked away the man was starting to pack the pots in containers similar to those Bodie had seen on the ship.

“Are those address labels, or something?”

“Yeah. They’ll probably take an hour or so to reach us. It depends what’s in the stack. People with children take priority, of course.”

“Well, how would he know? Or is it the sort of village where everyone knows everyone else?” God, let’s hope not.

“It’s on the label.”

“Oh. So back for milk now?”

“Well, I thought we’d…” A meander down another of these little paths, not in the direction of the supermarket. This time the prince led them to a row of small buildings. Plants? A new dustpan? Travel tickets to visit his mother? No. Household linen.

“I want to get new sheets. We should spend our first night on brand new sheets. Look, what do you think of these?” He urged Bodie’s hand to an unfolded sample of a plain white material. Bodie was touched by the impulse but still felt like a fool, and was very aware of the shopkeeper standing just a few feet away.

“Yeah, OK. Whatever you want.”

“I think…” The prince moved purposefully down the row until he came to a sample with a definite (though subtle) sheen, coloured the palest cream. He sighed slightly as he grasped and then rubbed the material. “It’s pasalur. From Tabarka. My mother got her promotion to Zamura for handling that contact. Have you ever felt anything like it?”

“No.” The compulsory answer, and also the truth. Bodie blinked in surprise at the warmth, the softness, the virtual weightlessness. It was like chamois that had been polished over and over until it was paper-thin. Imagine this under him and the prince on top. He gave a sigh to echo the prince’s and closed his eyes briefly.

“These sheets, then. What about the cover for the quilt? They’ve got some in colours and patterns.”

Bodie shrugged. “Seems a shame to put dye to this. If this is the natural colour.”

The prince nodded, smiling. “Good. That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” A momentary flash of tongue-tip—not flirtation, but an involuntary surge of appetite. Bodie swallowed. “Against this you’ll look…” Another flash. “Well.”

A few more seconds and they’d be dragging one another to the ground. Bodie lurched towards passion-killing normality: “You going to have these sent up, too?”

A grin that acknowledged the effort at rescue. “Might as well. Doesn’t cost anything.” The prince selected packages from the stacks—several sets, it appeared—while Bodie stood back. This time the exchange with the shopkeeper was longer, and she kept on glancing in Bodie’s direction, but the prince was obviously playing things down and Bodie survived with barely a blush.

“ _Now_ food?”

“OK. Lead the way.”

Bodie took them back to the supermarket by the way they’d come. He did wonder if it was the quickest route from the linen shop, but the prince raised no objections so it couldn’t be too far off. Soon enough he’d know these lanes like the backstreets of Soho; he’d be sending things up to the flat himself.

Maybe there was some law of nature underlying the design of supermarkets. It could have been the food hall of any Marks and Sparks back home—except for the crèche along the outside wall. The prince got them a trolley and did all of the steering while Bodie tried not to be too obvious about examining it: the body was a single moulded piece of some light, semi-transparent material, presumably a plastic, though it didn’t have that oily texture. He couldn’t see what they’d done about the wheels since they very low and hidden under the broad “foot” but whatever they’d done, it worked better than those Bodie was used to.

The prince knew his tastes by now, so Bodie offered no suggestions and simply followed at the side, taking in the commentary. Sometimes he got distracted by snippets of speech around him—he always got several words and sometimes a substantial phrase, but never quite caught what they were talking about. Of course it would take him a while—weeks, even—to tune his ear in, after all this time of speaking only to Ray. He’d get some proper practice when he started meeting Ray’s friends.

“How much of all this is imported? How much comes from the business?”

“Um… I suppose about ten percent here. But this is basics. And maybe another twenty percent that was originally imported but is now made or grown here. If we went to a fancier shop, the proportion would be higher.”

“What kind of shops will be stocking coffee?”

“Oh, Yestor will have it in a month. I’d give it five years to reach here, though. Could be less. Marketing could tell you to a day, but you’re asking the wrong person. Don’t worry, we won’t let you go without.”

“Well, you’ve never deprived me yet.” An exchange of leers, and then they were in the final aisle—snacks on the left, alcohol and other drinks on the right—heading for the checkout.

Their purchases fit in the backpacks quite precisely. Bodie was impressed but then considered that the prince must be used to shopping for two. Did he and Gavio do the rounds here together? And where had Gavio gone when he’d moved out? Did Ray even know? Not to another flat in the building, please. Maybe he’d been so upset he’d moved to another island.

The checkouts were at the back of the building, at the base of the sloping wall. After he’d finished paying, the prince took them through a wide door to the right, which came out at one end of a tunnel that ran through the centre of the building. Bodie hadn’t noticed this tunnel when they’d passed the other end—it was lined with more shops and stalls and he must have taken it for the entrance of a shop—but peering along it, he could see the corner of the opposite building, and the entrance to that building’s tunnel.

Turning in the other direction, after the prince -

He thought that it was only for a few seconds that he stood frozen, dazzled by the depth of the grass’ greenness, by the sparkling blue of the water. Bare, alien ground, just yards away through the towering archway. A breeze brought summer warmth to him, and the smell of salts and herbs. It was the smell that told him conclusively that he was far, far from home. How had he not noticed it before? Probably the strong smell of the spilled soil had overwhelmed everything else, even out on the balcony.

The prince took his hand and led him outside, and Bodie felt not an instant of self-consciousness. Beyond the archway was a paved path which soon branched: left to the road, right to the beach. At the beach it joined a narrow path which ran along the shore a few feet above the beach. At intervals there were steps down to the beach, and simple stone benches set back from the path. They stopped at the bench nearest the prince’s corner of the building, took off their backpacks, and sat facing one another.

“Which one’s yours?”

“Ours. You see the ledge with the boxes on it? With the red flowers?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s to the left of that.”

“A pyramid.” Bodie was shaking his head in wonder. “Did you guys have pharaohs and stuff like that? Is everything based on myths and the masks?”

“Well, it sounds as if we went through the same sort of stages. But pyramids aren’t part of our stories. If they were, I wouldn’t feel comfortable living in one. I don’t think most people would. It would be… presumptuous.”

“Well, I’m glad they’re not. Wouldn’t want to miss this.”

The prince just smiled at him, relief and pride evident. They sat in silence for a while, then Bodie spotted a returning ferry and asked about the destinations. The overwhelming majority of the traffic was to Dishna on the mainland, where the prince worked. The journey took an hour and the ferries left every half an hour during the day. There were about ten other routes—to neighbouring islands and to towns and villages around the cost—but few of these ran more than twice a day. The prince had taken some of the smaller routes in the course of his work and he described the places and his experiences as they shared a container of tegal juice.

It was Bodie who remembered the deliveries. “Will they leave them out in the corridor? Or come back later? Or what?”

“They’ll leave them in the corridor. They’d probably be fine there for weeks, but we ought to get back. Just to put things in the fridge.”

They stood up and walked the short distance along the path to a small doorway at the corner of the pyramid. The lift was immediately inside, and they were back at the flat within minutes. The containers had not arrived—or had already been stolen.

The pots arrived when they were halfway through breakfast, and the sheets about twenty minutes after. Bodie got the job of clearing up the soil on the balcony while the prince wielded their light, purring equivalent of a vacuum cleaner indoors and then rehoused the surviving plants. The prince decided to stack all of the pots on the balcony for the time being; even the best plants looked battered, and he said it would depress him having them inside.

Despite breakfast and their recent activity, they were both yawning, systems not convinced the day had really begun yet, and they had no objections whatever to going back to bed. Together, they stripped the bed and fitted the new linen, stopping frequently just to gaze at one another without even touching, simply overwhelmed with the idea that they were now truly home.

They undressed each other quickly, without caressing—not directed towards sex just yet, but needing to do this together. Then under the welcoming covers and into a light embrace.

Eventually, the prince said, “You didn’t want me to draw the curtains, did you?”

Bodie shook his head, then opened his eyes to enjoy the windows he’d been waiting for all these weeks. There were no patches of sunlight inside the room any more, but the balcony was still brightly lit. As he watched, a small, deep-brown bird landed on the wall, then hopped down to the edge of one of their pots, and then flew off. He smiled, and closed his eyes again. He was genuinely tired, more than he’d realised, as if there was a great weight inside his brain pulling him down, down into sleep.


	8. Chapter 7

## Chapter 7

“What time is it?” It was the second time Bodie had woken.

“About two.”

“D’you get a good sleep?”

“Yeah. I feel fine now. Course we’ll be awake all night, but…”

“We’ll just have to think of a way of tiring ourselves out.”

“Yeah.”

They’d clearly be saving it for the evening, though, which was fine with Bodie. He could have been persuaded now, quite easily—a pulse, there, just from thinking about it—but for their first time here, he’d prefer the night, _real_ night, and the anticipation.

“What d’you fancy doing?”

“When will they deliver our stuff from the ship?”

“Some time today. Maybe even while we were asleep. I’ll check.” The prince slid out of bed—he was on the left, his usual side when they were together—and took the few steps to open the door to the hallway. “No. Not yet.” He came back to bed.

“How can you tell? Won’t they be sending them to the living-room, same as us?”

“We don’t do that with freight. The building’s got a transporter reception area. They’ll get sent up same as our shopping.”

“So how could you tell just like that?”

“There’s a green light on the door panel if something’s been delivered. It stays on after they’ve pressed the buzzer.”

“In case you were in the shower, or something.”

“Or asleep. So what do you fancy doing?”

“Should we stay here and wait for it?”

“We don’t have to. It’ll be fine. But I can always set us as ‘No Deliveries’ if you’re worried about it being stolen while we’re out.”

“Don’t you have crime here, then?”

The prince laughed. “Don’t wish _that_ on me. I’d be out of a job.”

Just two months ago—but it felt much, much longer—Bodie had been among those who could react like that. He felt his first real surge of nostalgia for CI5, but promised himself that it would wear off. “Why don’t we go for a walk? It’s a nice day. You can show me the rest of the town.”

“OK.” The prince sat up, then seemed to be seized by a thought, and twisted so he was kneeling, facing Bodie. “You know, I would have bet anything that the second after we touched down, we’d be in here, rock hard, all over each other.” He pulled the quilt down, slowly.

“I know. Me too.” Bodie drew a leg up and used a foot to push the quilt to the end of the bed.

“Do you mind? It’s not been a disappointment?” The prince was studying Bodie’s cock, which was filling but hadn’t yet lifted away from his thighs.

“If it was, I would have done something about it, hours ago.”

“Yes, I think you would.” Now he met Bodie’s eyes, a wicked smile in his own eyes. “Got plans for tonight, though.”

“Hope they involve giving me a good, hard fuck.” His cock lifted off, and then higher as he watched the disturbance of the prince’s self-assurance. “Let’s let the neighbours know you’re home.”

A flurry of blinking and a painful swallow. “The way I want you… I might as well arrest myself right now as a vesu storto.”

Bodie’s turn for a wicked smile. “Promising, your royal highness. Very promising.” The next instant, he was off the bed, shaking his Y-fronts the right way out.

* * * * *

At the door, the prince showed Bodie the green light on the panel, and the switch that controlled it. He left the light on. “The signal goes down to the freight department. If they see you’ve got something still waiting they don’t send anything else up.”

“Makes sense.”

Once on the ground, they headed back to the path alongside the beach and made their way slowly north. There were nine pyramids along this stretch, Bodie discovered, two to the south of the prince’s and six to the north. They all looked very much the same.

“Do they have names? Or numbers? Or what?”

“They’re named after the days of the week. Total lack of imagination. Every ten years or so someone will come up with a better idea—and then instantly get shouted down at the next meeting. I think kids find it easier. Reassuring, or something.”

“Which one are we?”

“At Oba Nyon.” That was the name of one of the six working days. Bodie found that a good omen.

The path continued for a few hundred yards past the last pyramid, then turned to the right, curving back behind the pyramids into the small, yellow-and-white town. To the north, the beach got steadily wider, and eventually developed dunes held together by tall clumps of near-black grass.

“D’you want to carry on to the dunes?”

“Sure.”

“Take the bridge, or wade?”

Shielding his eyes from the sun, Bodie finally spotted the glinting water of the stream.

“What d’you normally do?”

“Wade. This time of year.” At Bodie’s nod, the prince sat down on the bench and started pulling his shoes and socks off. Bodie joined him.

Trouser legs rolled up to mid-calf, and shoes and socks in the prince’s backpack, they set off across the beach, although it took several minutes to reach the first shallow channel of water. The prince pointed out the small wooden bridge some distance upstream.

“There’s a path to it that branches off the main path. That’s why I asked back there.”

“How often d’you come down here?”

“Not often. Gavio liked to have people around. Needed to be seen. I’d come down here sometimes when he was away. Or when we’d had a row.”

They’d reach the start of the stream proper, which was ankle-deep already, and too wide to jump across. The water was flowing steadily around Bodie’s legs, cool and clear. Of course, he’d done his fair share of wading in the military, but this was bringing back a much older memory: that one holiday when they’d joined up with his aunt and cousins, and had taken a cottage… somewhere. Maybe it was Scotland.

What would he say to the boy he’d been then? You’re going to think you’ve made some bloody stupid mistakes. You’re going to wonder what the fuck you thought was so bad about staying: so what the same job, same pub, same debts as your old man and your brother and all the rest? But I can tell you it all works out in the end.

The prince took them up into the dunes, to a small hollow with shading from a near-forest of the dark grass behind. “Look, you can still see the sea.” Through a valley between the dunes, off to the right. They sat, drank the tegal juice the prince had brought, then lay back, hands touching though not holding. Bodie could hear the churn of the waves, the cries of birds, the shifting of the grass in the slight breeze. He sighed and closed his eyes.

He wasn’t aware of hearing the aeroplane, but something made him open his eyes, and there it was high overhead, flying west. Maybe it was going to Monor. Should they get in touch with Malun? With anyone?

Malun equals twin equals question he hadn’t asked at the time. “Are you saying you’re a twin?”

The prince raised his head to look at him, then lay back with a sigh. “Certainly am.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Someone you wish you didn’t.”

“Oh. The arsehole.” The skull. Ward, wasn’t it? Who didn’t look much like Ray. Dark. Gangling. Already going grey at the temples.

“That’s him. So you were on your own, were you?”

“Yeah. Well, older brother. We ignored each other, mostly.”

The prince was looking at him again, frowning this time. “Your parents have problems? Not get on?”

Bodie quirked his eyebrows to match his most evil grin. “They had me. That was their main problem.” Probably true, too. “Nah, well as anyone else.”

The prince nodded, seemingly satisfied, and there was silence again.

Another question, asked but not answered: “What _do_ you think your friends will make of me?”

“They’ll think you’re the best thing that could possibly have happened to me. I know they’ll like you.”

“What about the language? How patient’re they going to be?”

“You’re doing fine. They won’t need to be patient. And I’ll get them to learn English.”

“What about other aliens you have here? How do they fit in?”

“Well… They usually keep to themselves. I’ve not spoken to any.”

“Do you _have_ many?”

A sigh. “Not really. Not for long. They come to do something in particular—set up a factory or an orchard—and then go home.”

“You got tough immigration laws or…?”

“Talking to the anthropologists on the ship… We’re the kind of comfortable, consensus society that other societies hold up as an example—and then pray they never have to visit because we’re so fucking boring and smug.”

Bodie laughed long and hard and the prince joined him.

“And…” The prince was drawing spirals in the sand, not meeting Bodie’s eye. “…there _is_ the language.”

“Yeah…?”

“It’s - It’s famous for being difficult. Everyone who does business with us has got jokes about it.”

“Time for me to make some up, then. You said I was doing OK.” He’d suspected, right from the first. A species of language geniuses wasn’t going to come up with the language equivalent of the mud hut.

The prince was looking at him now. “I’m not saying it’s impossible. We’ve had kids here from other planets, and they’ve picked it up almost like us, but for adults… Yeah, it puts people off. And you _are_ doing fine. You’ve been working bloody hard at it, and it shows.”

“ _You still might have fucking warned me what I was up against.”_ But no point now in getting shirty. It was both too late, and too early. Maybe he _was_ doing fine. Maybe if they did all know how difficult their language was, about the jokes, then they’d take that properly into account. Maybe there wouldn’t be a problem.

“I’ve know.” Smiling, he raised a finger to mark his inspiration. “You issue a… what? royal decree. Everyone has to learn English in the next week. Might’s well get some use out of you being a prince.”

“Hah!” Derision and relief. Interesting combination. Then the prince rolled slowly over and fitted himself to Bodie’s side, head resting over Bodie’s armpit. His eyes were closed and he was smiling, and he kept the same expression during the adjustments to free Bodie’s trapped arm.

Bodie lay with his head turned towards the prince. From here, he could see the far end of the line of pyramids emerging from behind the dunes. There was At Oba Nyon, but their corner was hidden behind the neighbouring building. He lifted his free hand to the curls, and stroked through them gently, brushing out grains of sand in the process. Then he cupped his palm around the prince’s cheek, thumb by the corner of the mouth, and was still. Their breathing fell into unison.

* * * * *

“What were you thinking?” A flock of tiny, yelping birds had lighted for a second on the thicket of grass behind them, then hiccuped and departed, a bouncing, whirring cloud. Bodie’s bones still held the warmth from the vibrations of the prince’s laughter.

“That it’s this planet’s soil I’ll be buried in. That this is where I’ll die.” His tone made it clear that he did not regard these as grim thoughts.

“Mmm.” A matching contented sigh. “We’ll be a one-generation dynasty. A dynastic tomb just for the two of us. Perfect.”

“A dynastic tomb.” Bodie gave a brief snort of laughter.

“I’m serious. That’s how we do it.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re a royal. Of course.”

“No. Everyone. No such thing as a single grave. Saves space. Not that that’s the reason.”

“So we’ll be buried with your family?”

“Uhuh. For dynastic purposes Udom Kol always moves to Embrun. And since your family doesn’t have a tomb here, we’ll start our own.”

“Oh!” Bodie returned to curl-sifting for a while. “No, I like the sound of that. ‘The Bodie Dynasty’. Wait till I tell Cowley.” The hair at the temples was so soft—he felt his fingertips weren’t sensitive enough to do it justice. “What were _you_ thinking?”

Smirking, the prince raised himself on an elbow. “That by the time we walked into town I’d be about ready for lunch.” They both laughed. Bodie started to sit up, but the prince leaned over him and pushed him back down. “And that it’d been far too long since I’d kissed you.”

* * * * *

This time they crossed the stream using the bridge, and once at the main path they sat on the grass to put their shoes and socks back on.

“I’d’ve thought the town would be right by the beach. Don’t people get pissed off with the pyramids hogging the best views?”

“It was once. Then they reshaped the coastline, pushed it further out to sea. Built the pyramids on the new land. Lots of argument at the time, but it seems to have worked out. Not many people _live_ in the old town these days. It’s businesses. Offices. Workshops. The secondary school. Restaurants. The hospital. A small park.”

The original sea front was still there, a line of narrow, three- and four-storey buildings in a range of shades from white to ochre, now facing the rear edge of the pyramids across the leafy park. Not a ruined view. Not at all.

The entire first block had been turned into the secondary school. From what Bodie could see through the windows, it seemed there was also a law of nature regarding classroom-design. “The hospital’s back there.” The prince was gesturing vaguely. “D’you want to head off and have a look?”

“No, not really. It can wait.”

“Then I was thinking we’d eat along here.” A few blocks away down the sea front. Bodie could see a few tables set out on the pavement—empty now, since it was mid-afternoon.

“OK.”

They sat outside, both facing the park. Their stretch of pavement was in the shade now, but the air was still very warm.

“Is the weather always this good?”

“A third of the year, maybe. We do get a lot of good weather, though you can never be sure when it’s going to happen. Winters don’t get very cold, but the storms can be bad. All of the buildings along these coasts have storm blinds on the windows.”

A waiter had appeared: small, thickset, blond. Seeing him on Earth, Bodie would have pegged him as a sailor. The man was handing a menu to Bodie when he took his first proper look at Bodie’s companion—and then Bodie found himself involved in his first proper conversation in Hass Embrun.

~Ray! How long has it been? We were /?/ you and Gavio /?/ enough.~

~Months. Months. We just got back this morning. And of course we had to come straight here, didn’t we?~ The prince knew Bodie’s limits quite precisely, and was obviously choosing his words accordingly.

~Of course you did.~ The smile now included Bodie, with a definite glint of curiosity.

The prince leaned forward. ~I knew you’d want to be the first /?/.~ A hand on Bodie’s shoulder. Bodie glanced at him and got his most serene expression ready. ~Bodie and I were married /?/ planet nearly two months ago.~

The eyes shot wide open and the jaw dropped. Then a quick recovery into pantomimed astonishment, including a step backwards. Bodie gave the snort of laughter which seemed expected.

~’Bodie’, is that right?~ Now the man was standing in front on him, smiling, right hand pressed to his breastbone in the semi-formal pose of greeting. ~Buka. I’m /?/ to meet you. We haven’t met before, have we?~

Bodie returned the gesture of greeting. ~Hello, Buka. No, we haven’t.~ This time the waiter seemed more prepared for surprises, and Bodie’s accent brought only a raised eyebrow and a look of polite curiosity.

~/?/ planet, Ray said.~ Off-planet, it must be. ~Were you born off-planet, then? I didn’t know /?/ on the /?/ bases.~

Bodie just nodded, then turned to the prince for some hint on how to approach this. The prince immediately took over.

~Bodie’s from a planet called ‘Earth’. He’s a /?/. A ‘human’.~

Buka didn’t seem to take it in at first. Then he groped for the nearest free chair and sank into it. ~But you’re - It’s a proper…? But - They always said that was /?/.~

~I know. You think _you’re_ suprised? You should have seen us when it started. ~ He squeezed Bodie’s shoulder and smiled at him—Bodie smiled back, almost starting to enjoy this.

Buka shook his head for a good five seconds, then launched into a lengthy exclamation involving various verbs that the prince had not yet taught Bodie. When it was over, he placed his hands on the edge of the table, and hauled himself ceremoniously to his feet. ~I think this /?/ for /?/.~

~I think it does.~ Buka had just stepped inside the door when the prince suddenly called out: ~Not /?/. Bodie won’t like it. Let’s have kumusi instead.~ Kumusi was a rich liqueur in their terms—a kind of musky, peppery brandy in Bodie’s.

Bodie waited until he could hear the sound of clinking glass from the back of the restaurant. “You might have bloody warned me.” His tone was mild.

The prince grimaced. “I didn’t think he’d be here. I thought he only did evenings.”

“I didn’t think we were going to go around _telling_ everyone. ‘Oh, he’s an alien. Yes, the only one on the whole planet.’.”

A gusting sigh. “Neither did I. But it just seemed the simplest thing to do. He’s right, they _don’t_ assign breeding pairs to the bases. I’m sorry.”

Bodie could hear the waiter’s footsteps approaching. He relented and flashed the prince a lopsided smile. “I’ll survive. Had to get started sometime, I suppose.”

Buka had brought the drinks already poured. Bodie cupped his hand around the little square glass, waiting to see if there would be a toast. There was, and he didn’t understand a word of it.

~What’s happened in the last five months? Anything I need to know about?~

~Ah… There’s a new /?/ in the /?/ in At Kamaran. Much better, /?/ the /?/. And I heard that -~ The prince had raised his hand in mild interruption.

~Could you use /?/? And simpler. You probably think Bodie’s /?/ but he isn’t. We’re still the only /?/ we’ve found.~

~Oh! I’m sorry, Bodie. I was saying that the…~ He pointed to the pyramid to the south of theirs and then looked enquiringly at the prince.

~Bar.~

~The bar in that house is being done by new people. And they’re doing it very well.~

Bodie nodded. ~Do you live in one of those houses?~

~Yes. In that one.~ The southernmost pyramid.

~That’s At Pontal,~ supplied the prince.

Bodie swept his arm along the line of the pyramids, from south to north. ~I think they are in the same order as the days of the week? But with the days of rest in the middle.~

~That’s right.~ Then the prince switched to English. “I said they had no imagination.”

~What other things have happened?~

Buka looked reluctant. ~You won’t know any of the people.~

~Ray will explain later.~

~Yeah. Come on. All the /?/.~

So Buka shrugged and began a description of names and times and places which became increasingly animated and difficult for Bodie to follow. He soon gave up and just sat back with his glass, following the exchanges in the conversation as if at a tennis match. It was now obvious how formal the prince had been with his family, even with those he liked, such as Turon and West, his oldest and youngest brothers. Was he afraid that any relaxation would be taken as a sign that they’d won, that he was ready to join the fleet?

The gossip was winding down, now clearly at the “I knew that was coming” stage. The prince’s tone marked the end very clearly: ~And the news here?~ He tapped the table. ~Don’t tell me you’ve stopped /?/ food.~

Buka laughed, slid the two menus across the table, and then went indoors, taking the tray and his glass.

“How much of that did you get?”

“Not a lot. Doesn’t matter.”

The prince nodded, glanced at the menu and then put it down. “The usak’s always good here.”

“I’ll have that, then.” Bodie’s menu joined the prince’s.

“And a couple of beers?”

“As long as it’s turalu for me.” Their equivalent of lager, or maybe shandy, normally avoided by adults—but their standard, eventful brew was not what Bodie needed on a hot summer day.

Their drinks arrived quickly, and they sat watching children playing in the park. As many fathers as mothers, from a quick count. They obviously didn’t let you get away from kids here. Or maybe they had whole sprog-free islands?

“Why don’t we set a date for visiting your mother?” Get it over with.

“You set it.”

“Well, what’s the day today?”

“Second At Laura Var of Set Uchur.” Bodie still had to concentrate on this side of things: At Laura Var was the third day of the six-day working week; they were in the middle week of the month; and in the eighth month of the thirteen. About three weeks past midsummer, then.

“So why don’t we go this weekend? If we can get tickets.”

“That’s _soon_.” About the level of reluctance Bodie had expected.

“C’mon, Ray.” The voice of reason.

The prince dropped his head to the hand farthest from Bodie, face twisted in what looked like pain. Bodie’s own expression was similar as he put his glass down and reached over to take the free hand.

“Ray. Ray. You know we have to. You’ll get to see your older sister, Ferros, too. You said she was your favourite.”

Suddenly the prince raised his head, eyes intense, and the grip on Bodie’s hand became painfully tight. “You’re not to leave me when we’re there. Not for a second.” It was like one of his frantic episodes in the first days of their betrothal.

“Of course I won’t. You know I won’t.”

A jerky swallow, and the grip even tighter. “I’ll be fucking _murder_ to be with.”

“I’d never had guessed.” That broke through, or maybe the smile that went with it, and the prince gradually relaxed, though there was still a shake to his hand when he picked up his glass.

“OK.” A sigh. “I’ll book the tickets when we get home.”

The food arrived a few minutes later, and it was indeed good. They ordered a second round of beers and took their time. Bodie did his best to finish the basket of bread—the slices were warm and the flavour and colour were both an improvement on the galley’s version.

The prince was back to normal now. “We’ll get to see our nieces, too. They were born about the time we met.”

Yet more twins. What was it with this family? They should be forced to wear a Warning label: “In case of straight sex, _will_ produce twins.” “Are these the first in your family?”

“Yeah, Ferros and Turon are the oldest twins. And Turon, Ward and I won’t be breeding. So otherwise it’s wait a few years and see what happens with the two youngest. West might, but I’ve got that feeling about Lamon. Y’know?”

Bodie frowned, visualising the page of his notebook where he’d drawn the family tree. “Lamon? Would that be West’s twin?”

“No, the two youngest are both singles. She’s a year or so older than him. Somehow she ended up wearing Gagras—who is pretty-much our Satan, poor girl. She was always shy, but that can’t have helped. Apparently she’s moved back into the house since the babies, helping with our mother. The others had bloody better give her a break now they’re back. No nieces or anything on your side, then?”

“Nah.” Well, there might be for all he knew, but they certainly hadn’t invited him to the christening. Terrible William, descending as the Fairy Godfather. He clenched his jaw to stop himself laughing, definitely not prepared to explain that joke to the prince.

Soon after, the prince paid and they left after a lengthy round of farewells with Buka.

“Right to the end and then back via the ferry terminal?”

They carried on southwards. There were very few people on the street—only about twenty had gone past in all the time they’d been at the restaurant—but this was still too many for Bodie’s comfort. He tensed slightly as each new figure came in sight, ready for this to be another of Ray’s long-lost friends. But it seemed they were safe. For now.

A hill rose at the far south of the town, starting gently, but soon becoming steep, so the road ended and turned into a broad set of steps. The houses at the bottom of the hill were bizarre: coiled like huge snail shells, and with walls growing out of the shells and stretching far back up the hill. He counted twelve of them, six to the left and six to the right, all a brilliant white.

There were small paths branching off the steps to left and right, leading to the smaller buildings that were dotted over the hillside, many almost hidden in the thick, dark-green vegetation. They took the second path to the right, about forty feet above the town. The prince pointed out the hospital, the tax office, the workshop where he’d bought his dining table. Bodie took it in, but was more interested in the glimpses he kept getting of the backs of the shell-houses.

Soon they were past the last of the shell-houses, and the path was climbing. At this rate, they’d be above the top of the pyramids by the time they got level with them. But no. They reached another set of steps, much steeper than the first, steep enough to have a railing, and here the path stopped—there were no houses further on, where the hill was doing its best to become a cliff.

“The ferry terminal’s down there.” The prince leaned over the railing and pointed to the base of the hill. There was a boat at the end of the long jetty, and another just sailing away, slowly heading to the north. “Very quiet now, of course.” There was a line of nine or ten vehicles waiting and a few pedestrians ambling on board. “My morning one’s always packed.”

Bodie turned side-on to the railing and took in the view. To the north, the beach and dunes seemed to go on for miles, and inland it was a pattern of greens with the odd lumpy little hill. “It’s a great town. Always thought I was a city person, but I could get very used to this.”

“Yeah, you do. I’m glad I work in Dishna, but I’m still enjoying the novelty of having everything in walking distance. Would you want to get a job here, or in Dishna?”

Bodie exhaled noisily. “God… Let’s see what’s on offer first.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit soon.” He started down the steps then paused and looked back up at Bodie. “Head straight home? No great thrills in seeing the terminal any closer.”

“OK.”

At the bottom of the steps there was a path leading left to the terminal, and another going straight ahead, through the middle of the lawn that separated the park from the pyramids. The backs of the pyramids were full in the sun now. If they lived on this side of the pyramid they could rush home and have wild, abandoned sex in the best patch of sunlight—if they hadn’t already decided to save it for night-time, of course.

They took the nearest lift then walked around to their side of Level Six. Since they wouldn’t be going out again for another two or three hours, the prince reset their Deliveries light, and then they settled on the couch with mugs of kenit.

* * * * *

The first pair of containers arrived after about half an hour. One held the coffee and coffee-maker, and the prince immediately started making them a pot while Bodie proceeded with the unpacking. After that, the containers arrived in steady succession. The ones with clothes went to the bedroom, to be dealt with later, and the others to the living room.

“We need more shelves.” The books and records and stereo and pictures were stacked on the floor in front of the two main sets of shelves, which were on either side of the dining table. The gaps left by Gavio’s departure would not be nearly enough—especially with the entire Military History department of Foyles waiting to be read.

“More walls, more like it.” The prince was surveying the space, a doubtful look on his face.

“Nah, always looks more when it’s like this.” Bodie had a wealth of experience at moving house. “We do need more shelves, though. What about along here?” Under the window to the left of the double-doors to the balcony—the right side was already taken up with the TV and other entertainments. “Or we could squeeze some in behind the couch.” The wall opposite the TV. “Be OK for stuff we don’t use much.”

“Right. I’ll take the measurements and we’ll go to Yata’s workshop tomorrow.”

The clothes were less of a problem since a good half of the wardrobe was free. While they were packing, Bodie had talked about throwing away some of his Earth clothes; there seemed little point in lugging them around, since in the last few weeks on board he’d switched entirely to their clothes. As before in the CI5 flat, the prince had claimed them and Bodie was secretly pleased—he liked seeing Ray in his clothes.

The prince had just hauled out the leathers. Bodie had never unpacked them during the journey so this was the first time they’d seen the light of day in two months. Bodie knew he still needed them, though he couldn’t have said why. Should’ve brought his bike after all. Imagine heading out of town with Ray behind, holding him. Riding all day until he found some perfect, hidden place where even Ray had never been before.

As Bodie watched, the prince suddenly lifted the jacket high by the armpits and pressed it to his face, inhaling deeply. Bodie blinked, then opened his mouth to apologise for the decades of unchecked fermentation. Apology not required though, judging by the instant roughening of the prince’s breathing and the straining erection.

Bodie moved to his side, grasped the neck of the jacket, and pulled it down a few inches. “You’ve got strange tastes, my husband.” A whisper down into the still-hidden ear. In the next second, the prince was thrusting the jacket at him, as flushed and urgent as Bodie had ever seen.

“Put it on. Put it on. I’m going to make you sweat into it so hard. Make you soak it with married sweat. Do it.”

Bodie took the jacket, heart pounding, but still managed to play it cool. “That’s what you fancy for tonight, is it? I’ll bear it in mind.”

A snarl, then the trousers and boots thumped against his midriff. “Now. You’ll do it now.”

Would he, indeed? Well, of course he would—this was exactly the thrill he used to be after when he had to have a man. But there had to be a fight first.

“I’ll do it on my terms, Ray. Are you sure you want to hear my conditions?”

“I’ll buy you a flyer. I’ll fuck you the way that makes you scream.”

Bodie threw his head back and laughed with sheer delight. He felt as if a barrier had just burst open inside him, that his need for this man had just conquered another territory. Were there to be no limits to what they could be together, after all?

“Oh, no, I’m not that easy. It’s something you’ll hate.”

The prince shook his head, dismissing the possibility.

“OK, then. While I’m getting changed, you’ll go and book the tickets for the weekend.”

Outrage. Letting the leathers fall, the prince stepped back and gestured in protest at his bulging groin.

“There’s a cold-tap in the bathroom. You’ll find a way to calm yourself down enough. If you want this as much as you say.”

The prince hobbled out of the room, muttering darkly in his own language. Bodie laughed some more, then started to undress.

The trousers required some thought and care, and it took him over a minute to fasten them properly: tugging the zip up with one hand while he protected his swelling cock with the other. It looked powerfully sexy when it was done though, the clear line of the shaft against his stomach. Fuckable, mate. Thoroughly fuckable. I’d give you one myself, if I could.

He’d had the forethought to do the boots up beforehand and place the jacket and the gauntlets on the bed, so the process of getting to his feet and donning the rest of the gear reduced the pressure on his cock rather than increasing it. Tragic to waste all this good come before they started. The prince was already getting some of the sweat he wanted, though.

Was he actually doing anything next door? Or just waiting? The soundproofing was good, and Bodie couldn’t hear a thing. Even more mileage if he wasn’t.

Finally, footsteps in the corridor. Bodie propped himself against the frame of the door to the balcony, arms crossed, expression as cold and indifferent as he knew how. His cock was throbbing insistently.

The prince just looked at him from the doorway. Bodie guessed that he had made the call: there was an air about him of a man who has done something that had frightened him, and now feels he can cope with anything. “Are you sweating?”

“Some. Not much.”

“Want me to make you scream?”

“Sure. If you can.”

A leisurely saunter across the room, past the bed, hand trailing along its length. He reached the wall a few feet from Bodie and stood with an elbow propped on the window-sill. “You are sweating, I can feel it from here. You’re sweating for your husband. All you can think about is the hard fuck you’re going to get.” The prince had only to make a statement—and it instantly became fact. Drops were running down Bodie’s sides from his armpits. He wanted to look down at the prince’s groin, judge how long he’d have to wait. But he wasn’t going to be that easy.

“Y’re a lousy mind-reader. Didn’t even pick up on what I want from you first.”

“Didn’t I?” The prince stepped forward, took Bodie’s right forearm in a two-handed grasp, and then sank to his knees, pulling the arm down with him. Bodie watched as his gauntleted hand was turned, as the prince’s mouth took in his index finger. The sensations were slight, but the sight was everything. His breathing became audible—maybe his heartbeat too? “I’ll do this to your cock, soon.” A whisper. “Unless you can convince me it wasn’t what you wanted.”

Bodie had no reply.

The prince pulled the gauntlet from Bodie’s hand and laid it on the floor. Then he put his hand along the line of Bodie’s erection, holding it there as Bodie jerked and grunted and his sweat ran. Next, fingers delved at the top of his flies, found the tab of the zipper, and here he gave a little grunt of warning: partly nervousness of the zipper, partly because he was too close to coming. The prince seemed to take no notice, and yanked the zip down more quickly than Bodie would ever have dared. While Bodie whimpered and shivered, he folded the leather back to a V—finally being careful—and then just looked. Bodie looked too, caught a glimpse of the triangle of white against the blackness, of the blood-flushed shaft rising from its base, but a glimpse was all he could take.

“Put your hand around it. Your left hand.”

Bodie obeyed, going only by feel and using the lightest grip. He heard a long sigh, then there was the touch of the prince’s hands, cupped around his over the leather, and then a soft wetness sliding onto him. The mouth exerted no pressure at all, it was just there, soothing him even. He gave his own long sigh, of relief.

Soon the prince drew back and stood up. “Now turn and face the wall. And pull your trousers down enough so I can get at you.” How was he managing this control, this coldness? Bodie was in thrall, would have done anything, anything he asked. Or was the control a measure of his earlier fear? Before Bodie had even taken a grip on the leather, the prince was walking away across the room. The sound of a drawer opening. Unhurried footsteps back. Out on the balcony, all was in shade now, no sunlight even at the top of the wall.

A finger ran quickly down Bodie’s cleft, then tugged slightly at the top of the trousers, apparently checking, and apparently satisfied. He struggled to open his legs, to show his participation, but his thighs were bound by the material. The sound of small, rhythmic, liquid movements—almost drowned out by Bodie’s panting breaths. Then hands parting him, a touch at his entrance…

It was the gauntlet. He gave a strangled gasp and felt his muscles clutch at it strongly, felt the unyielding ridges and creases, the dry texture of it despite the ample lubrication. It pushed deeper, deeper, and then the prince was pressed along his side, gasping in his ear. It seemed the control had broken—was smashed to pieces, in fact.

“Bodie. Bodie. Help me. This is going to kill me. This is too much. You’re too much.” There was real anguish, and Bodie understood exactly.

“You started this, Ray. And you know how you have to finish it. I’m giving you ten seconds to get your cock inside me.” Or else what? Ray would be the one getting fucked, probably. “Ten. Nine -” Rather to Bodie’s surprise, the prince didn’t need to hear any “or else” and by Four Bodie had forgotten all about counting.

Bodie had expected it to be quick, and yes, it was, compared to their usual couplings. It was at least as hard as promised, too, the prince practically throwing himself at Bodie with each thrust, so Bodie had to use both arms to brace himself against the wall and doorframe. Bodie found he couldn’t stop moaning, couldn’t make the sound less incredulous and beseeching for even a fraction of a breath—and he had no reason to since the prince wouldn’t touch his cock, though he begged in his moans for the prince’s hand. He’d realised very quickly that if he hadn’t come by now, then this was going to be one of those times when his body simply wasn’t going to let him come from the fucking on its own.

It would be no wonder, though, if the prince hadn’t heard him or hadn’t understood him. The anguished shouts were either wordless or in the native language—and they were closer to a scream than Bodie’s moans were, especially in the last moments, when the anguish turned to a fury and insistence. And then there were adamant mutterings while he ground his hips against Bodie long after the last pulse of orgasm had rocked them both.

Finally he just seemed to fall away, crumpling to the floor with a thud. Bodie turned, found him thrown back against the foot of the bed, legs sprawled, eyes closed. He didn’t open his eyes when Bodie grasped his head, and it was hard to say if he was even aware of what was happening in his mouth. When released, his head fell back, and he was as before apart from the trails of semen from the corners of his mouth. Bodie never saw him swallow, but he must have done. It was long, long minutes before he tilted slowly to the left, eyes still closed, and then rolled the few inches that brought him to lie against Bodie.

* * * * *

“We can’t do that again. We mustn’t.”

“You reckon?”

“I don’t want to feel that again. Not even for you. It’s too much.”

“You stopped feeling it now, then?”

The prince rolled away from Bodie, seeming to need separation while he considered his reply. Eventually, as if dragged out of him: “You know I haven’t.” He covered his face.

“Of course you haven’t. Any more than me. God, if I’d known before that you can be that powerful, that…” Sexy was too small a word, but he didn’t know another. “I’d’ve done anything you asked.”

“It’s too frightening.”

Now Bodie rolled over, propped himself up on an elbow. “I don’t mind a bit of fear. Don’t believe you do, either. It’s done, Ray. We know how it is now. Anyway, it’s not as if we’d get there the same way again. And next time it’ll suck us in just the same. I wouldn’t miss seeing you like that. Not for anything.”

“I wanted to crush you down into a ball. Eat you. Stop you being somebody else outside me.”

Bodie growled, and saw the prince flinch. “God, I’d love to be eaten by you. I wanted you to become just one huge cock. And then my arse would take you all the way in and never let you go again.”

There were sharp cries of protest, but the smeared cock twitched, and twitched again—in their current exhaustion, that would be wrenching enough to cause most of the protest.

Bodie had no mercy. He leaned over the prince, brought his head around with a still-gloved hand. Intimidation had been a business for Bodie, and of course also a pleasure. “I can take it. And that means you can too. Doesn’t it?” Without waiting for a response, he bent to lick away the trails of semen, his ministrations far from gentle.

It seemed he’d been claiming the still mouth for a long, long time before he felt the gust of a sigh against his cheek, and then he was welcomed, and met. Instantly, he became tender, reassuring, and they kissed, and twined their legs together as close as their trousers would allow, and shifted onto their sides.

In the end, it was the prince who drew back. After nearly a minute of serious, wordless scrutiny, he said, “You are too much, though. It will kill me.”

“Ray. Ray. I know exactly how you feel. But think. I left everything I’ve ever known for you. Because I had to be with you. I had to marry you. And I’m glad. God, I’m glad. So I know now not to fight anything that happens between us.”

“Oh.” Hushed—and a change in the nature of his awe, though not its strength. “Of course. Of course you’d know. No wonder you think I’m being stupid.”

A grunt of denial, and then a grin. “But for once I do know something you don’t.”

The prince mock-punched him on the arm, and then they enjoyed a brief, giggling scuffle, though badly hampered by their pushed-down trousers. Bodie used the handicap best, and ended the bout by pinning the prince down. However, his look of triumph vanished the instant he felt the touch of the prince’s hands on his bottom—the gauntlet was gone now, and it was Ray’s bare hands, new and astonishing to him as after the wedding. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes and the fingers pushed into the dampness of his cleft, seeking out the slickness that had leaked from him. They both sighed.

“Bodie.” Breathed into his ear. “I need to pull your trousers up. So they soak up some of our fucking. Can you move so I can…?” Bodie clambered onto his hands and knees, eyes still closed. The prince slid down underneath him, but couldn’t get the grip he needed on the stiff material, despite Bodie’s efforts to help—so he clambered out to the side instead, and found a workable position kneeling by Bodie’s thigh. Bodie rested his weight on his left forearm while he used his left hand to keep his cock safe from the zipper. When the trousers were pulled all the way up, the prince ran his hands over and over the curves of the leather and down between Bodie’s legs, paying particular attention to the cleft and other paths for leaks, but not ignoring any surface. Bodie craned his head around to watch him, but had to look away after just a glimpse—he loved being loved, loved being found beautiful, but to see the declaration so naked, so absolute… In the knowledge of his new responsibilities, he found his own match for the prince’s earlier fear. No escape, though, no equivalent of: “We can’t do this again.”

“I’d like you just to lie on the bed for a while. Would you mind?”

“Course not. Help me out of m’boots, though?”

Bodie stood, and used the time while the prince was tugging at the zippers on his boots to take off the remaining gauntlet and then do his flies up. Then he eased himself to lie on the bed with his knees over the end—definitely not sitting at any stage in the process—and watched smiling as the prince stood and dealt with his own trousers, and then came to pull Bodie’s boots and socks off. Once fit for their fine new bedding, Bodie hauled himself up to the pillow with his elbows, then slumped back bonelessly, feeling gloriously lazy and passive. The jacket was indeed soaked on him now, and getting chilly, but he had no complaint. He couldn’t be truly cold when Ray was near.

The prince sat beside him on the edge of the bed, leaning over him with a fond, proud smile. “Is there anything I can get you? Something to drink? Or eat?”

“Uh… Mug of tea? Proper PG Tips, I mean. None of your foreign rubbish. And some of those biscuits that taste like vanilla?”

“OK. I’ll need a kiss, though, for while I’m away.”

Bodie obliged, and the kiss was moist and noisy and prolonged—for they were both reluctant to part. But Bodie did now want his tea, did want the prince back here afterwards and taking such care of him. “Just tell yourself… the kitchen’s just the other side of this wall.” He tilted his head back to the wall behind the bed. “So there’s no more than a few feet between us. That’s not so bad, is it?” Ignore the cruel length of the corridor to the living room. The prince just groaned and shook his head—then left quickly without looking back, which was exactly what Bodie had expected.

When the prince returned, it was with a heaped tray. In addition to the pot of tea, mugs, and biscuits, he’d brought a chilled bottle of the light fruit wine Bodie liked, and also Bodie’s current book of military history.

“Gonna read to me, then?”

“If you’ll let me.” And Bodie, who’d been mostly joking, just smiled, and smiled, and smiled.

After Bodie had had enough tea—later, he’d decreed, for the wine—he curled on his side with his head in the prince’s lap, and his breathing became ever slower as the prince stroked his hair, and the prince’s voice flowed over him.

* * * * *

“Oh.” He blinked and tilted his head back. The prince was still holding the book, now open at the beginning. “How long was I asleep?”

“Half an hour, maybe. Go back, if you like. I’m very happy like this.” He moved his hand from Bodie’s shoulder back to his hair, letting it lie there like a blessing.

Bodie might well go back to sleep. He wasn’t sure yet. He stretched, then curled more thoroughly over the prince, an arm now hooked around the lean hips. “What we planning for tonight, now?”

“Mmm… ‘ve gone off the idea of going out. Place I had in mind, they’d get very snotty if we both tried to sit on the same chair—and at the moment I can’t see us wanting anything else, c’n you?”

“Uhuh. Good. Go tomorrow, instead, then.” A sleepy chuckle. “Unless we do the same kind of thing tomorrow.”

“Well…” Dark and drawn out, and the book now abandoned on the bed. “We’ll see. Depends if I’m satisfied with today’s sweat. Might have to keep trying until you get it right.”

Bodie gulped, and felt a fresh wave break out on his face and chest, but he rose to the challenge. “Yeah? How good you aiming for, Ray? A ocean’s-worth of salt marks all over the outside?”

“I’ll know it’s right when I can hold it to my face and that’s enough to make me come. When there’s enough of you in it to keep me functioning even if… oh! …someone kept you away from me for a week. Two weeks.”

“And this is the man who was insisting not half an hour ago that we could never do that again.”

“Oh, that was different. Anyway, ‘s worked out OK. Doesn’t do for your people then? You need it at source?”

“Um. Yeah.” It did seem to be the most marked difference between them, the preferences in tastes and smells. Of course, he loved the prince’s fresh sweat, and its stale form certainly didn’t turn him off, but beg his most rank, incineration-worthy shirt for a favourite sex toy… No way—no more than he could drink kenit the way the prince drank it. And he’d be insisting they let his leathers dry out properly—inside-out on the balcony might be best—before he’d give the prince his next fix. A man had some standards.

The prince was gentle again now, manner somehow sympathetic—thinking about how far Bodie was from home and about things human? Bodie stretched and sighed under the stroking hands. “We could take the car out all day tomorrow. Go as far as Wharton.”

“OK. What about the weekend? What did you book?”

No tension in the prince, none at all. Bodie felt very pleased with himself. “We leave about midday on At Oba Nyon.” The Friday, as Bodie always translated it. “Get in late in the evening. And then back late afternoon on An Uraba.” The Sunday.

“So we’re there for nearly three days. You clear it with your sister?”

“Yeah. She can’t wait to meet you. You’re the first thing all of the others have mentioned about the trip.”

“They been to visit yet?”

“No. We’ll probably see most of them on and off over the weekend.”

“Malun’s not planning some fancy gathering, then?”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

“How long’s the flight?”

“Four hours. With a four hour time-difference. We’re flying from Dishna. I thought we might go over the night before, stay in a hotel. Show you around at bit.”

“Sounds great.” The idea of the hotel brought the image of the prince at the reception desk with his payment-card—and revived an issue that had been niggling Bodie since before lunch. He raised his head, then heaved himself up onto an elbow. “Ray. When’m I going to get one of those credit card things? Get a bank account. That kind of thing.”

“As soon as you’ve been processed by Registration. We’ll get Malun to check how far along that is. Maybe you’ll be able to collect your ID at the weekend. Then we can go to the bank first thing next week, change my account to a joint one.”

“Did you get paid while you were away?” What were Ray’s finances? Not poor, but maybe no one was here. And his idea of luxury was new sheets. Bodie hoped the finances were healthy enough to absorb the odd mistake with the numbering system or with weight conversions. He’d hate to see Ray embarrassed about money, and to know that he was the cause.

“Not by my work. Officially, I was away on one of the work-experience placements that the business runs, and there was a wage that came with that. Malun tried to make it an officer’s wage. Which was ridiculous considering the sort of thing they had me doing when I was working. So I said -”

“‘Get thee behind me, Satan.’”

“What’s that?” The prince was puzzled.

“It’s from the Bible. Christ rejecting temptation on a mountaintop or something. It’s just something you say. Never mind.”

“So I was taking the advertised wage—which I admit wasn’t much. And then I met you and… He didn’t try again with the wage, but when he started talking about wedding presents and how it was a big thing on Earth and… I didn’t argue much. Or at all.”

“So you’re not going to send me out begging just yet?”

“Not this week. Don’t start picking out a colour for your flyer, though.”

“Oh. So when you’d said you’d buy me one, you had some kind of kid’s toy in mind, did you?”

“I never said I’d buy you one. I said we could save up. And it’ll be years.”

Bodie shook his head, grinning. “You definitely said you’d buy me one. Not surprised you don’t remember, though. At that point you’d’ve said anything to get me into these.” He slapped himself on the chest. “And sweating.”

“Oh, well, that’s not fair, is it? Think you’re making it up, anyway.” He pressed his fist against the same spot on Bodie’s chest, pushed him easily onto his back, and then opened out his hand and ran a finger along the line of the zipper to the popper at the neck. “You should be just about done by now. Shall we check?”

“Why not?” Bodie was amused, and also curious. Was Ray going to come all over him, as promised? The occasional gust had reach him through the neck when he’d shrugged or moved his arms, and they’d certainly been yeasty enough to keep a brewery in production. If that was what Ray was after, he was in for a treat.

The prince got the zipper halfway down, then suddenly slumped on top of Bodie, panting hard, and blindly burrowing his face into the gap, inhaling and licking frantically. Bodie gasped, astonished despite all the build-up. He managed to wriggle his hand under the heaving chest so he could pull the zipper the rest of the way down, and the prince then immediately buried himself in Bodie’s armpit, gurgling in his excitement, and thrusting his erection against Bodie’s thigh. His eyelids were fluttering fast, and beneath them his eyeballs were darting in a broken rhythm.

“Ray. Ray.” He was fighting Bodie’s lifting arms, struggling to get back to his humid paradise. “Back off just a minute. Before you overdose. Let’s get your trousers off. Mine too. Let’s make the most of this.” The glazed eyes were only now starting to show signs of comprehension. “Come on.” A surge of strength, and he had the prince on his back and was kneeling by his hips, undoing his trousers with one hand, and trying to fend him off with the other. And all the while biting back a hysterical giggle at the idea of his armpit—his armpit!—being his most intoxicating sexual attribute.

His own trousers were more difficult to deal with, and he only managed to bunch them down to mid-thigh before he was enveloped again. He’d hoped to get the prince’s cock against his bare skin—he was as much in love as ever with the feel of those volcanic orgasms—but there would be another time.

No chance whatever of catching up with this. He knew he’d probably be giving himself a hand-job while the prince was passed out with exhaustion, so he ignored himself as best he could and just watched, fascinated, as the hunger his body provoked built to a punishing peak and then was satisfied.

Now limp, the prince’s body slid to the bed. Bodie held him in the curve of his arm, feeling the hammering of the heart through his muscles and along his bones, feeling it gradually slowing. And he felt trusted. Totally trusted. Strange. As if the prince had indeed been drinking from him something magical and purified and sustaining. Would they do this often? At that, his own heart leapt, and with it his cock.

He gave himself another minute to savour the prince’s heartbeat and the steady lift of his ribs, and then reached down to grasp himself. He wanted this to be slow and controlled, more an easing over the edge than any frantic dash. He didn’t want to disturb the prince, didn’t really want to be diverted to his own thoughts for the time it would take, but he did want to join his husband in that place where finished sex took you—and it also seemed the only fitting acknowledgement of this marvel.

As Bodie’s hips started their first involuntary shiverings, the prince finally opened his eyes. When he lifted them to Bodie’s face, the expression could have been resignation, acceptance, contentment… Something elusive, and clear-eyed, and calm. And then he looked down, and what he saw brought a slow, broad smile of knowledge and approval—and that smile brought Bodie smoothly over the edge, and it was perfect. Perfect.


	9. Chapter 8

## Chapter 8

They started on the wine in their shared bath, and finished it while the prince was making supper with Bodie watching from his seat at the dining table. For the meal—which was excellent, as Bodie had known it would be—they opened a second bottle. Afterwards Bodie cleared up and made coffee, and the prince set up Bodie’s stereo on the table and put on one of the early Beatles albums.

The sun was nearly down now. When the 8.30 ferry back from the city was at the right angle, you could see the fires of the sunset reflected in its windows. They leaned together on the couch, drinking from the same mug, and watched the quick transition to night. According to their earlier plans, they’d have been heading out to the cliff-top restaurant about now.

“Is this the first time Earth music’s been played on this planet?”

“Doubt it. The fleet’s anthropologists have been doing their studies for years. First time for its own sake, though.”

“What did you think about Earth when they first told you you were going there?”

The prince grimaced. “Just another planet, to be honest. And disappointed that you were so similar to us. Thought the least Malun could do was start me on something exotic.” He laughed and shook his head. “If only I’d known…”

“Would you still have gone?”

A sigh. “Well, if someone had just said, ‘There’ll be a man there who’s your match. So much that it’ll only be a day before you’re in russval,’ then… Without having met you, not knowing _exactly_ what I would be missing, I’d probably decide I was fine as I was with Gavio. What about you, if you’d known?”

“Oh, God! I’d have called in sick the moment you came into orbit. Stayed off work until you were on your way home again.”

“Yeah. Lot to be said for ignorance.”

“Well, it’s always worked for me.”

* * * * *

They were on the second side of Bowie’s **_Low_** —one of Bodie’s murderous-day-at-work albums—when the buzzer sounded at the door.

Bodie frowned. “There’s nothing left to come, is there?”

“No, that’s not what Delivery sounds like. We’ve got a visitor. You in the mood to meet anyone?”

“Er… See who it is, and _you_ decide. If he’s anything like that waiter bloke then I don’t mind.”

The prince got up to answer the door. It was a male voice, and even without catching any of the words, Bodie could tell within a few exchanges that the man was going to get invited in. He got to his feet and crossed to the far side of the armchair, in sight of the living-room door.

The man was tall and thin, with a combination of exaggerated features and creamy skin that somehow said “teenager in 70s sitcom” to Bodie. The hair would have lost him the part, though, being a deep red that you could really only call purple. Well, maybe he’d sneak in as “joke alien in 70s sitcom”.

~Bodie, please meet our neighbour, Plassen. He lives up on /?/ Eight.~ Level Eight, obviously.

The two of them exchanged the gesture of greeting. Plassen was not at all surprised to see Bodie in the prince’s flat, but he was full of curiosity. Bodie sighed to himself. The word had obviously got out. Ray was doubtless about to be besieged by friends he’d never known he had.

The prince went to the kitchen area and started some water boiling. ~Would you like to try some ‘coffee’? It’s a drink from Bodie’s home. I think it’s going to be the next /?/ here.~

~Yes, please.~

Bodie fetched the coffee maker from the TV area, and the prince rinsed it out and then showed Plassen the pack of coffee—an appreciative inhalation and then the two aliens were deep in a rapid technical discussion about what it smelt like and then (judging by the prince’s pointing at the picture on the packet) how it was grown and so on.

A separate mug for each of them this time, and a bottle of kumusi. Bodie and the prince sat close on the couch, but not quite touching.

~I was telling Ray that I was in /?/ and Buka said you’d been there. So I knew I had to come and welcome you, and /?/ you both.~ He’d presumably already been briefed about the language problem by the waiter or the prince.

Bodie smiled. ~It’s good to start to meet Ray’s friends.~

~Have you been enjoying your first day here?~

~Very much. I like this town very much. And this building.~ He wanted to say it seemed very well-designed, but didn’t know how. ~How long have you lived here?~

~All my life. I was born on Level Two.~

Bodie knew he must look surprised. He’d never sat and had coffee with someone who had stayed where he’d been born. ~Are your parents still on Level Two?~

~No, they moved.~ Pointing at the single door to the balcony. ~Even /?/ At Rahden.~ The one named after the Tuesday, which made it second-to-last to the north. ~So I never see them now.~ His sudden smile confirmed that the mournful tone had been a joke. He cupped his hand around his mug to test the temperature, then raised it to his lips while Bodie and the prince watched. A frown of concentration, then raised eyebrows and a slow nod. ~Yes, it’s good. “Coffee” you said it was called? When will it be /?/?~

The prince shrugged. ~Don’t ask me. I just drink it. Bodie brought /?/ of it with him.~ An evil smile. ~It’s /?/.~

Plassen lowered his mug and gave the liquid a suspicious look. ~Is it?~

~It is to Bodie’s people. And it makes you /?/.~ An outstretched trembling hand. ~But only one mug…~ He sucked air through his teeth, weighing the odds. ~You might be safe.~

~Is it really?~ An appeal to Bodie. ~Or is he /?/?~

~It does make you…~ Bodie trembled his hand. ~But only if you drink too much.~

~How much is too much?~

~For me, six, eight mugs. For Ray… I don’t know yet.~ He turned and smiled at the prince: ~But you’re not happy if you don’t get your two mugs for breakfast, are you?~

A dismissive shake of the head, but with an answering smile. ~That’s just to /?/ you.~

~Are there any other ‘human’ /?/ I should know about?~

The prince hadn’t taken his eyes from Bodie’s face. ~None that will /?/ you.~ The smile had faded, and the clear-eyed, calm look was back. Bodie swallowed, feeling the desire to kiss crackling in the air between them.

~How was the /?/? Did you see much of Bodie’s planet?~

~No. I only /?/ about six hours down on the /?/.~

~Oh. They made you work all the time?~

~It’s not a /?/ ship, you know. The /?/ has to eat even when they’re in /?/.~

Plassen pulled a face. ~It sounds as if you were /?/. Would you /?/ again?~

~I wouldn’t again, not now.~ A quick glance at Bodie, his reason (and excuse) for staying put. ~But I’d tell other people to /?/. It was good to see /?/. To know where our /?/.~

~Were they /?/ to you? And who /?/ your father when you /?/ Bodie?~

~The captain. They were very good to me.~

A satisfied nod, then another sampling of coffee. ~Are you a cook too, Bodie? Back on your planet? Is that how you met?~

It was some seconds before Bodie could attempt a reply. ~No, I’m a - I was a…~ He looked at the prince for help. Help was swiftly given, but Bodie didn’t recognise the word at all. “Cannon-fodder”? “Hired muscle”? Or just “soldier”?

~Oh.~ Surprise, then acceptance—with a steady appraisal of Bodie’s physique that had Bodie shifting in his seat and waiting for Ray to bring Plassen into line. But the prince never did. Maybe they didn’t have jealousy here? ~/?/ to Ray’s real work. Are you going back to work next week, Ray?~

~Not if /?/. Bodie and I have only just /?/. I want another month before I have to go back.~

~What happened on the ship? Did they give you any time to /?/? Or did you have to /?/ even during the betrothal?~

~They were very good. They gave us as much time as we wanted.~

~Well, you were on the right /?/ for it. With Udom Kol /?/ with the new Embrun, they must have been feeling /?/.~ At the start of reaction from the couple, he leaned forward. ~You _must_ have known about it. You must have seen them during their betrothal. Or did they spend all their time /?/? ~ The masks must have been put up in the palace already. Bodie had been expecting Malun to come and ask him—formally—if he was willing to wear Embrun, but it had never happened, and somehow Bodie had found himself knowing that he was going to go along with the whole thing.

The prince’s expression was mild. He didn’t even swallow or clear his throat or anything before replying. ~Only after the wedding. We were about the ship a lot during the betrothal, weren’t we?~

Bodie gave a brief nod, then focused fiercely on his coffee.

~No, that wasn’t what I -~ He stared at the prince, blinking slowly, then looked down at the table-leg and chewed his lip. A flick of the eyes up to Bodie’s over-controlled face, across to the prince, then his mug, and finally the prince again. ~Not all the time I’ve known you? Because you’d have to -~

~No, not all the time. I can’t give you /?/, Plassen. You know I can’t.~

Bodie felt thoroughly sorry for the man—it must run in the family, like twins, this inability to break news gently. Maybe his sympathy showed in his face, made Plassen choose him for the next question. ~You’re a prince, then, are you? Back on your planet?~

Bodie’s laughter was deep and unkind—directed against himself, but Plassen wasn’t to know that.

~No, he’s a soldier.~ Go with that as the guess. ~And I’m a saguntu in Dishna. The same as before. I know it’s /?/. But I’m the same as before.~

~I know. I know.~ He ran a hand through his hair, still looking very uncomfortable. ~How about some of that kumusi?~ Bodie immediately leaned forward to pour it, relieved to have something to do.

~Why did you ask if he’s a prince? It’s not /?/ that he would be, is it?~ The prince seemed aggrieved for some reason.

~Oh, I don’t know. Thank you, Bodie.~ He downed most of the generous measure immediately, and Bodie stretched across the table to give him an even bigger refill—he deserved it. ~Just…~ And then a long explanation that Bodie couldn’t follow at all, though it finally seemed to mollify Ray. Demanding little sod.

When the danger was over, the vocabulary returned to Bodie’s level. ~Is this the new /?/, then? That you all tell people?~

A snort. ~What? After /?/ years?~ Bodie still had trouble with the large numbers. ~Think about it, Plassen. Could you hear Bodie speak more than /?/ and think he was one of us. The first time he speaks when he’s wearing Embrun, the /?/ will be there for anyone who /?/.~

~Do you think anyone would -~

~Yes, I do. And I don’t want you all /?/ around me. Let’s just /?/ it and then forget it.~

~So who are you going to tell?~

The prince shrugged. ~The people I want to /?/ to Bodie. And of course you will not tell anyone else.~ How could you hear him come out with something like that and _not_ guess he was a fucking prince? _Would you start me a war over this, Ray?_

It was Plassen’s turn to snort. ~ _You_ think about it, Ray. Who wants to be known as a /?/? ~ A “gossip”? Or a “person who lives in the same building as a prince”? And knowing them they would have a word for it.

~Good. I was hoping you’d /?/.~ The prince suddenly smiled, topped up his coffee, and then sat back with his drinks, thoroughly relaxed and in control. Bodie wanted to thump him.

~Would you like some more coffee, Plassen? You should be safe, I think.~

~Yes, please.~ He pushed the mug towards Bodie. ~Did you /?/ this yourself?~

It couldn’t be “make” since he’d seen the prince make it. Must be “grow”. ~No. The place I come from is too cold.~

~Is it like this?~ He gestured towards the windows.

~Sometimes. Most of the time it’s colder.~

An understanding nod. ~Like our Roxen. I went there in /?/ to see the /?/.~

~Just colder. Not /?/.~ To Bodie, amused: “He’s thinking glaciers and permafrost.”

Plassen shrugged, quite happy to be wrong. ~Have you got any pictures? I’d like to see them. I’ve never been off-planet.~

Bodie stood up, pleased, and went to search in the nearest pile of books. He had a very good memory for positions—part of his sense of direction, probably—and the AA Touring Handbook of Britain was exactly where he thought it would be. Though why he’d packed it at all in the circumstances… Glad he had, now.

He and the prince swapped positions on the couch, and he opened the book up on the table, and started flicking through it with Plassen. The prince supplied words from time to time, and soon shifted to sit on the table so he could see the pictures properly and ask his own questions. Bodie had meant it to be a fairly quick tour, concentrating on London and the Scottish islands, but they were genuinely interested—and very tolerant of his areas of ignorance.

~When are you going back?~

Bodie pushed the book to the far side of the table, and sat back, shrugging. ~I don’t think I will.~

~Never? But there must be so much you’re /?/.~

Another shrug. ~No. Not so much.~ And it was true that he wasn’t missing any specific thing—just being somewhere where he knew the rules properly—and even that only came on him vaguely and infrequently.

The prince moved back to the couch, lifting Bodie’s hand to his thigh as he pressed close. ~He’s the /?/ man I’ve ever met.~ Pure awe and devotion. Bodie blushed and had to close his eyes for some seconds.

~Maybe I should /?/ for the /?/. When’s the next /?/ for Earth?~ Plassen was not serious, or not for himself.

~Yes, it will be interesting to see how often /?/ between us. What do _your_ people think about what happened, Bodie? Surprised, I thought, but not… ~ He shook his head vigorously, acting the part of the great British public: “‘No, this is impossible. We’re unique in the universe and that’s that.’”

The two humans who knew what had happened were probably trying to forget he existed. He just nodded in agreement, having nothing he could safely add. Most of the time he himself forgot how it had started. _~ ’No, this is impossible. We meet our first aliens and they’re a bunch of psychos.’~_ He didn’t know their word for “psycho” anyway.

~Have you seen Gavio? I thought he might have /?/.~ The prince’s tone was concerned and apprehensive.

~No.~ Plassen seemed sad, but with no hint of blame—and he’d presumably been Gavio’s friend as well as Ray’s. Maybe loyalty went out the window along with jealousy. Or maybe curiosity about the alien husband overrode everything? ~I think he’s /?/ somewhere. Was he here when you came back?~

~No. He’d gone.~

A slow nod, and then the conversation changed course again. Not long after, Plassen had to cover a yawn—it was gone eleven, and he was an early riser—and a few minutes later they were seeing him to the door.

“Nice bloke. I just have one question, Ray.” Bodie was blocking the doorway to the living room, arms crossed. “Are you _ever_ planning to warn me before you pull one of your stunts?”

“What’re you talking about?”

“You know perfectly well. One minute you’re the prince who turned his back on it all, and then next you’re announcing it in the fucking newspapers. Christ knows, you’re allowed to change your mind, but it’s _me_ they’re all going to be whispering about.” The prince backed away from the stabbing finger. “Did you think about that even for a second?”

“They won’t be whispering. No one cares. I thought you’d realised that by now.”

“ _He_ looked as if he cared. The poor bastard. You _like_ springing these things on people, don’t you?”

“It wasn’t like that, and you know it. I didn’t think he’d have heard about Udom Kol and Embrun already. But since he had, I wasn’t going to lie to him and then have him find out that I’d lied in a few days time. He’d have cared about _that_ alright.”

“What about just keeping your mouth shut for a while and then having a quiet word with him _after_ you’ve checked it with me?”

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad. But I’ll do it your way next time, if it’s such a big deal.”

“You’re so unbelievably fucking gracious, your royal highness.”

“I don’t -” A sudden halt, with just inches between them. Then the prince obviously entered a silent debate with himself. As it continued, Bodie slowly unclenched his dangling fist—both the clenching and the unclenching being entirely involuntary. “I’m sorry, alright. Yeah, I should’ve… But you seemed fine about it in there. I didn’t realise. Sorry.”

“So we’re going to decide on these things _properly_ in future, are we?”

“We’ll do whatever you say.”

Bodie made a sceptical sound, but moved back from the doorway.

The prince put another record on: a Nina Simone album which Bodie had bought for a single track and then played to death for the next week. Then he joined Bodie in clearing the coffee table (as it could now legitimately be called) and they did the washing up together.

“Go out and see what state the moons are in?”

“OK.” Bodie followed him out through the double doors. There were two moons visible: one immediately overhead, and the other low down, past the dunes. There were lights out on the water and further in the distance, some still, some moving, some steady, some flashing.

“That looks like Notigi in action on Bisha at the moment.” The prince was pointing at the low moon, where the glowing red dot was clearly visible to the top right. “As for Poya…” Tilting his head back. “I _think_ I can see Nino if I look to the side. It’s right on the rim at the bottom.”

Bodie peered upwards. It was a full moon, a pale yellow like one of his vanilla biscuits. Clearly not the moon he was used to. “I’m not sure.”

“It should be clearer by the weekend. Once you’ve seen it a few times you’ll be able to pick it out.”

Bodie nodded, then went to the wall and looked down. They seemed to be the only ones out on any of the balconies at the moment, though some of their neighbours were still up, judging from the patches of light on the tiles there… and there… and there. It was a warm night—they could have had their coffee out here, paced their conversation around the surges of the waves.

The prince came up behind him, put an arm around his waist. “Are you still furious with me?”

“No.” Bodie turned to face him. “Not for want of trying, mind you.”

“Suppose I can be a bit thoughtless. Sometimes.”

“Yeah. Sometimes. When you need a break from your normal arrogance.”

“Can’t believe I’m that bad. No one else’s complained.”

“No one else’s been married to you, have they? Not that I’d want you all dewy-eyed and considerate—take most of the charge out of our sex. But when it’s not for sex… then expect to get yelled at.”

“OK. OK.” The prince moved closer, and the kiss contained all the apology that Bodie could want.

* * * * *

“What was it you told Plassen when he asked if I was a cook? What did you say I did?” They were in bed, not particularly tired, but they might as well give their body-clocks a chance to reset.

“I said you were a soldier. I know that doesn’t cover it all but it seemed the simplest. And it’s how you think of yourself, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” A pause. “You ever killed anyone, Ray?”

“No. Not for want of trying, though, when the arsehole and I were still kids. What’s it like?”

“Well…” Bodie would not have talked like this with anyone else in the universe. “I’ve gone through times when it’s been the biggest kick in my life. And even when it’s been just a job, there’s… nothing like doing a job well, you know. Being one of the best. Which I was. Am.”

“Will you miss it?”

“No. I shouldn’t think so. Almost always it was a matter of surviving. Winning. Against men who knew the score. Who’d’ve done the same to me. The few times when I’ve had someone and really _wanted_ to feel him die under my hands, well… the last time I went ahead with it was, God, years so I don’t think you need to worry.”

“Do I look like I’m worrying?”

“I didn’t _think_ it would bother you.”

“Anyone can see you’re dangerous. If that put me off, I wouldn’t have come near you that evening.”

“‘n’ you like them dangerous so you can tame them, don’t you? Make them blush and sweat and hold themselves open for you.”

“You guessed.”

“Gavio dangerous, was he?” The prince’s laughter was reply enough. “So what’d you do? Just watch tapes and imagine it was you? Or go looking for dangerous men once in a while?”

“Bit of both. Not often. Gavio didn’t leave me much time. But sometimes we’d go off on our own. He’d go to his bars, I’d go to mine.”

“You ever pick a man who was too dangerous?”

“Nothing to get me really worried. I can take care of myself, and I’ve got good instincts about people.”

“And when he won’t be tamed?”

“No complaints. Sometimes even better.”

“What about doing it in public? Gavio go along with that, or d’you take yourself off to your bars?”

“Where’d you get that idea?”

“All those tapes you told me to watch. I got the hint. Blokes in masks with half the town looking on. Practically joining in.”

“Oh! And you thought - Ah. Yes, I can see that. No, it’s…” He cleared his throat. “Those scenes are always in historical settings. Though of course you wouldn’t know what to look for. They’re all set in the times when…” Another throat-clearing. “When that’s how it was on the wedding night. It had to be witnessed.”

“Bloody hell! And how long ago was this?”

“Oh, hundreds and hundreds of years. Before we had space flight.”

“But you’re all still into the idea, aren’t you?”

“Well, the symbolism’s still there. That won’t ever go. And it’s been a favourite theme in art for as long as…” He was shaking his head and exhaling. “There are pictures of it all around. I mean, it’s possible that someone’s already started on a painting of us.”

“But - But how will they know? Are they going to come and _ask_ us?”

A snort of laughter. “Course not. They’ll make it up. Playing up the parallels between you and Embrun for all they’re worth. Probably win an award. Several.”

“But they won’t actually show us - With you - Will they?”

“There’s a convention in these pictures.” Bodie breathed a sigh of relief. “There’s a location at a particular point off-centre in the composition that we regard as… just right. Perfect balance. Perfect… potential. It’s called the lumut selat. And that’s where the artist has to depict the penetration.”

“Oh, God.” A groan and a plea.

“We’ll be in the masks, Bodie. And everyone knows it’s just a painting of an idea. An ideal. No one’ll imagine it’s actually us. I’m curious to see what people come up with.”

“I can tell. And we’ll be a special in the porn tapes too, won’t we?”

“Yeah. If we could charge royalties we’d have the flyer in a week.”

“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.”

“You _are_ shy, you know. And don’t yell at me this time.”

“What’s shy about not wanting the world to see you getting it up the backside? You wouldn’t be so keen if it was _you_.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Simple incomprehension and curiosity. No jealousy. No loyalty. And no shame. Bodie already knew he would never really grasp the rules.

“There’s some sort of royal artist, is there? Like the poet laureate. Gets the job of whacking out the wedding portrait. Who was the last lucky couple?”

“My parents. And, no, there isn’t. Look, it’s a major theme in our culture. It’s important to us. It’s the focus of a lot of preoccupations, and most of them aren’t particularly about sex, and none of them are about William Bodie and Ray Bakkel. And most of the work is less explicit than you’re probably imagining. But if you want I’ll buy up every painting that even looks as if it might be about us, and burn it.”

“You’re all barking mad. Have I mentioned that?”

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you. Look, forget what I just said. Yes, I did have a thing about doing it in public, but I always knew I’d stop once I was married.”

Bodie was silent for a while, frowning, then shook his head sharply. “I don’t know if you even thought you meant it about buying the paintings. You couldn’t afford it, and what are you supposed to do? Spend all of your time going around art galleries, looking at every detail so you can decide if it’s us? God, that would make it worse.”

The prince took some time before replying. “No. I couldn’t afford it. But my family could. They could arrange… everything that needed to be done.”

Which would mean what kind of threats for the poor bloody artists? “Yeah. You’re right. Let’s forget it. Go back to you and sex in public.”


	10. Chapter 9

## Chapter 9

By the time they got on the ferry on At Kamaran (the “Thursday”), the prince had contacted his bank and discussed the change he wanted to make to his account. As expected, the bank insisted on seeing Bodie’s official ID, which they had already arranged to collect in person in Monor on An Embrun (the first “Saturday”), with Malun along to throw his weight about. This all confirmed what Bodie had seen on the ship: they were a moderately bureaucratic people and they didn’t like circumventing the system; but then again they kept it working smoothly enough that the frustration was bearable.

For the meantime, the prince had got him a stack of the “cash” cards: you got one for, say, 100 units, and one shop might deduct 20 units from it, and the next 35… until it was used up. It wasn’t folding money as Bodie knew and loved it, but it was transferable (and anonymous, the prince said)—and now he could go out and buy his own milk.

They took the car, as the prince did when he went to work, though he said several times that it wasn’t really necessary for this trip: they’d leave it at the hotel and just walk. The weather was perfect, as it had been every day so far. They sat on deck in the shade of an awning, Bodie with his turalu, the prince with his beer. Bodie found he was recognising features on the southern cliffs even before the prince pointed them out, though the restaurant from the night before _was_ an easy place to start.

When the ferry started its slow turn to the west, they moved to the other side of the deck, ready for their first sight of the city. The wait was not long, since the city’s main landmark was visible from many miles away.

“It used to be a fort. Centuries ago. Actually looks uglier and more aggressive now than it did then. But I like it.” It looked like a volcanic plug: a dark bundle of broken columns glaring out at the sea from its promontory with a unmistakable air of “don’t even think about it”.

“So that’s where you work.”

“Where I’m based. Report in every morning. Though I don’t spend much time there. If I did, I probably wouldn’t bring the car in.”

The city itself remained hidden behind the fort for a good twenty minutes more, and then the first thing Bodie could make out was the arch of a bridge, shining white in the sunlight. “That’s Kom Lusun. Right at the mouth of the river. It’s the main route between the docks and the main city. We’ll be driving over it.” And then the city was unfolding before him, a tangle of towers and domes and spines, barely a straight line to be seen. Behind it, three—no, four—tall bridges, and behind them, gentle green hills.

They had rounded the promontory now and the waterfront filled the entire field of view. From the look of the seawall, the whole city had once been fortified, but now the ramparts were a broad promenade, with the turrets doing a brisk trade as bars and cafes.

As for the city inside the wall… “What drugs are your architects _on_?” The snail houses back in the village must have been a tentative warm-up—or maybe a protest by a local puritan.

The prince blinked in surprise, then surveyed the skyline with his head titled. “Well, yes, I suppose it does look like that. Don’t you like them?”

“Hmm. I’m not used to buildings that look as if they’re alive. How many people do they eat every year? Take your eyes off them for a second and they’ll get up and walk off to another city.”

“Oh. But that’s my job. Didn’t I explain? I have to go around and keep them in line.”

Bodie laughed and carried on staring. The dominant colours were white, a deep red, a weathered yellow, and black. And mirrored plate glass in various colours: copper, the green of Ray’s eyes, eel-grey. Amazing. A mixture of scales and heights, too, all across the few square miles of the centre: nothing you could pick out as the business district, or a market area, or any single thing. No patterns at all that he could see, apart from the determined variety.

“How long did you live here?”

“Six years. I came to college here.”

“Anything to get away from home?”

“More or less. We’d passed through on holiday once—I think I was twelve—and I decided this was where I had to be. And the arsehole hated it, which made it an even easier choice.”

“Take me to see the places you lived.” He snorted. “I can just imagine you as a student. Your teachers must have wanted to thump you.”

“Think everyone did. Either that or fuck me. Was a busy two years.”

“Did they know how rich your family was?”

“No. I didn’t go by the Bakkel name. I still don’t. Everyone here knows me as Ray Vasmar. Which is the name from my mother’s side. It _is_ my name—our name—but no one else in the family uses it, or calls me by it, either.”

They were coming up to the mouth of the river and from this angle Bodie could see how sharp the bend was to the right, boxing the main part of the city in. On the other side of the river, the dock area and workshops and small factories spread out—lower and more muted than the city, but still with plenty of signs of individuality, not the type of building you’d buy by the yard.

“Do people live over on this side?”

“Some. More up-river and further up the hills, but you’ll find the odd bunch of students or a recluse. But it’s not where things happen.”

The ship had started turning sharply, in to the jetty. “Where’s the airport?” Bodie had been looking for signs of activity, but the skies had been clear all the time they’d been in sight of the city.

“Other side of the hills.” The prince was pointing slightly to the left of the dock area. “Twenty minute drive, if that.”

“And the hotel?”

“You can’t see it from here. It’s behind the red building with the spines. Ferros and Turon and everyone always stayed there when they came to visit. I think you’ll like it.”

* * * * *

Bodie did like the hotel. It was small and personal, and made him think of a beehive—for alien bees, of course, who insisted on adding little cup-like balconies to the outside, and on building a huge ornate arch at the entrance. Their room was light-beige and black and dark-brown. Very restful. And Bodie sensed that he’d really appreciate that come night-time, when he’d be on overload with the new and bizarre.

They had a drink on the balcony while they planned the rest of the day—or rather, while the prince planned it—and then they headed out, and walked for hours and hours. The pace was leisurely, full of detours and stops, the prince obviously proud and enthusiastic, but knowing that they had years in which to explore together. They took in his various flats, the bars he’d used pre-Bodie, the college, the scenes of his greatest triumphs at work—and other less-personal points of interest. The plans had included shopping for presents for the family, especially for the new nieces and the mad mother, and Bodie was relieved to discover that Ray was a very efficient shopper in such matters: decide what you want and then go to the place that will have it. No browsing, no impulse purchases, and absolutely no comparison shopping. Thank God.

Dinner looked and tasted and felt very, very expensive, though Bodie decided not to work too hard at finding out. The restaurant was by the river a few blocks from the hotel. It was built around a courtyard which was all pillars and benches and small, lazy fountains, and they sat in the gallery and took several hours drinking themselves into a state of glowing contentment with the entire world—not that they needed much help getting into that state when they were together like this. At one point, Bodie reached out for Ray’s hand across the table and didn’t waste a second on checking anyone else’s reaction, knowing there would be nothing worse than envy. They were a handsome couple (why deny it?) and so palpably delighted with one another. Was it going to stay at this level for fifty years? Hard to imagine, but then again, hard to imagine wanting anything other than what this man had to offer.

* * * * *

Bodie had got quietly excited about the flight, but the novelty had thoroughly worn off after half an hour. OK, there was a footrest, but no more leg-room than you’d get with British Airways. And none of the twelve channels of entertainment had been briefed by the prince beforehand, so he couldn’t understand more than one or two words in five. The food was good, though, and the prince had packed books for both of them, so it was one of the better four-hour flights he’d had. And of course it was difficult to be bored when he was with Ray. Ray was reading a Stephen King novel ( ** _The Dead Zone_** ) and it occurred to Bodie for the first time that he’d never seen him reading anything in his own language. _Keeping me company? Or not wanting me to feel left out?_ He moved the armrest out of the way so they could lean against one another.

It was dusk by the time they arrived at Monor and all he really saw from the air was a carpet of lights, and the sharp line where the city met the darkness of the sea. The airport was some distance inland, and the family home another hour in the same direction, so he’d have to wait until the next day for a closer look.

At the airport, their luggage was taken directly to their hire-car—Bodie was _very_ impressed—and they were on their way within twenty minutes. Half an hour speeding down a motorway, and then a slower pace along country lanes. There were fences and hedgerows and walls, small fields and great expanses, woods and canals and wind machines. For miles at a time it would be just like England, then they’d take a turning and it could have been Kenya or Normandy or Holland. Even when it was most alien, he found himself trying to fit it to something he knew.

The prince was getting tense, as Bodie had expected, and had stopped talking. They wouldn’t be seeing the mother tonight, but tomorrow was not far away, and this was obviously not a place he enjoyed. Was that just because of his twin? Or because of years of expectations about his future in the business? Or because they’d given him a hard time all along?

They turned in through an enormous gateway—a good ten feet thick and twenty tall—in a high, formal wall that had been at their left for over two miles. Bodie glanced at the prince, but there was no comment. The driveway was very long, and with a slight upwards slope now. He peered ahead through the silhouettes of the slim trees, but there was no sign of lights.

“Ray. Could you stop the car for a minute? Before we get in sight of the house.” The prince pulled over immediately and turned towards him, but still said nothing and Bodie could not see his expression in the dim light. He leaned over and put a hand on his arm. “I’m not going to leave you. Not for a second. And if you want us to go, just say the word. Any time. And do. Not. Worry. On my behalf. I won’t be shocked. I won’t be offended. I will behave perfectly. I promise.”

“I know you will. I know.” A whisper. He moved into Bodie’s arms, and they kissed. “In that way it’ll be much easier seeing her with you there. It’s more… knowing how I’d be if you were gone.” A long, ragged sigh. “It’s plain, selfish fear.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m your husband. You’re stuck with me forever.”

“Oh, yes.” He made a vague gesture at the driveway ahead. “Just keep telling me that, OK?”

“Every hour, on the hour.”

* * * * *

It was as well they stopped when they did, for the crest of the slope was up ahead, and then the trees thinned out, and the lights of the… well, castle, really… were shining a quarter of a mile away, below and to the left. From the sound of rushing water, Bodie gathered that they had just entered a river valley, and the castle seemed to be built right across the river. Maybe not “castle”. That was too military, and no commander would have been happy with that great sweep of windows looking downriver (a gallery?) or with all the exposed terraces. No, no, not a castle. This was built by peaceful, secure people. With an obscene amount of money.

Ferros and her husband must have been looking out for the car, since they were in the doorway waiting for them when the prince swung the car into the forecourt.

~Ray! My /?/! You look so /?/!~ Bodie liked her already, just because she clearly had what it took to make Ray happy. He didn’t think he’d ever seen him touch any other member of the family—certainly no vigorous hugs.

“And Bodie! My new brother.” She’d learnt some English for him. He liked her even more. “I’d like to…” She was holding her hands out. “But maybe your people -” She seemed tiny in his arms, her bones as fine and precise as Ray’s. Big breasts, though, and firm. But, of course, she’d just had her babies. When they stepped apart, he found Ray smiling at him with relief and approval.

Now Homa, the husband, came forward. He and the prince clasped hands, nodding and smiling, and pressed the sides of their faces together briefly. “Bodie, I am very pleased to meet you. For the last two weeks, there has been little talk here except of Ray’s great good fortune.” Rehearsed? Or was that truly two weeks’ worth of English for them? The tingle of Homa’s stubble stayed with Bodie for some seconds afterwards.

“You won’t want to eat yet.” Ferros was leading the way indoors. “But it’s never too early for a glass of deeral, is it?”

“We’ll go to our room first. You have put us in Cam Chara, haven’t you?”

“As you told me. Join us when you’re ready. We’re in Cam Dinsor.” And with a smile at Bodie, they were gone.

There wasn’t much luggage, and they shared it equally. The prince took them down one dimly-lit corridor after another and Bodie soon gave up trying to keep track or take it in. The carpets were dark and dense and resilient, and there was a hush that whispered of wealth and power, as if the entire building was in awe of its owners.

“Ferros looks more like you than any of the others. With the curls. And the shape of your faces.”

“Yeah, we take after our father. The others are more like mother. Especially Turon.”

Their room was on the far side of the river, underneath the gallery. It was quite small—well, four times the size of the bedroom at home, but not the echoing cavern Bodie had expected. There was a huge bed, a sitting area by the floor-length windows that overlooked the river, wardrobes and chests you could hide an army in. And a painted ceiling, and tapestries on the walls.

“This your old room, then?” Imagine being a kid in here. On your own. Fun for a day, and then you’d be desperate for someone to swing on the curtains with you.

“No. Hardly ever came here. But it seemed right for us.”

“And miles away from anyone else?”

“That too.”

“Where’s your youngest sister? I thought she’d be here.”

“Dunno. She might be with our mother. Or the twins. Her car was there, so she’s around somewhere.”

“Hiding from the dangerous, untamed alien.”

“Half-tamed by now. Give me some credit.”

* * * * *

The prince took them the long way back, through the gallery. There were two moons out now, and they stopped to look for eruptions, and then to take in the sight of the moonlight on the snaking river and the fields and woods.

“This is all yours, is it? As far as the eye can see.”

“Oh, further than that.” A snort. “Are you suggesting we’re paupers?”

“Bloody amazing. Won’t be sorry to get back to our flat, though.”

“That’s how I always feel.”

“D’they think you’re mad? Packing all this in? I know people who’d kill for a tenth of this.”

“Maybe. But you can’t _do_ anything with it. You can’t make it yours.”

“You ever come here with Gavio?”

“No.” Clipped, and with a shake of the head.

“Did he want to?”

“Oh, yeah. He’d seen pictures. Tried to bribe me with the idea of all the places we could have sex.”

“Like where?”

“I’ll give you the tour tomorrow. Anything appeals, just say the word.”

Their hosts were installed in a cosy, semi-circular room over the entrance hall, reassuringly lived-in, cluttered with equipment for the twins, and smelling of healthy baby.

“How’s she been?” They were settled on the couch with their glasses, Ferros and Homa opposite in armchairs.

~It’s /?/.~

“Unpredictable.” Bodie hadn’t even had to glance at him to prompt the translation.

“Yes, sorry. Unpredictable. Always bad, of course, but -”

“Worse than when we left? I wondered if when the girls arrived…”

“Still worse. Pleased, of course, but it also seemed to -” She cupped her hands together loosely then balled them up in a series of crushing motions. “Sometimes we hoped. But… And then we told her that you were married and she’s -” A pause to swallow. “- been needing to see you. To see you both.”

“Who told her?” The prince did not sound pleased. “She knows we’re here, doesn’t she?”

“I did. We both did. She’s hoping she’ll have a good night, so she’ll be able to see you tomorrow morning. And if she isn’t… Well, with three days, there’ll be a time. You know. She’ll make a time.”

The prince sighed heavily, screwed his eyes shut, and rubbed his forehead hard with his fingertips. Bodie gathered him close with an arm around his shoulder, and murmured nonsense at him for as long as it took. He kept the arm where it was, feeling it would be needed again. Maybe not, though, or not as much, now that the prince was leaning against him so thoroughly, hand heavy and trusting around the curve of his thigh. Bodie had been aware of the other couple talking quietly and patiently amongst themselves, and Ray’s recovery was met by an offer of more wine. Bodie now noticed that they were diluting their own wine. Maybe they’d been drinking all evening and were now just keeping the two of them company?

“How long’s it going to go on?” It was a plea, not a question. Bodie sighed to himself, realising the recovery had been only partial. The others just shrugged and shook their heads, looking exhausted. “We’re too isolated here, too far from other people. If she’d been in the city, this would have been finished a year ago.” Were they having problems with doctors, then? But surely they could afford to fly in half a hospital? “I mean, Elsas and Garad could be wiped out by plague—filiat—and it wouldn’t get halfway up the road. How long do we all have to wait? Until the girls go to school?”

“I know. Every time someone visits, I hope…” They all looked at Bodie, who blinked, then started thinking very, very hard. They couldn’t be talking about…? Could they? Jesus! Suddenly his sympathies were all with this poor deranged old biddy. Just pray he never had an off-day with this lot around. And it wasn’t as if they were short on attic-space to stow her in. Too used to life going exactly their way, that was the problem.

Fortunately for Bodie’s promise to behave perfectly, the conversation switched immediately afterwards—thanks to Homa—to the subject of their journey, and Bodie’s impressions of Ray’s city, and whether the hotel had changed much, and so on. Ray seemed fine now—it could have been an evening with some of his friends at home—and his ease gradually had its usual effect on Bodie. They were being very good about sticking to English, but then they’d probably spent most of their childhoods being trained for contact missions.

The two parents obviously heard the grizzling sounds from next door at the same time, and a good few seconds before they reached Bodie. Ferros pointed imperiously at her husband, who was already getting to his feet. The open door was behind the armchairs, to the right of the fireplace. A soft light came on, the grizzling quickly quietened and changed, and then Homa returned with a white-clad bundle held expertly in the crook of his arm. A brief conference about the state of the other twin, and then they returned to the interrupted conversation.

It took Bodie well over a minute to realise what he was seeing, and then it was the repeated sucking noises that did it—sight alone would not have given him even the first clue. He stared, appalled, his mouth gaping. His glass toppled over, then rolled to the floor. He felt sick, and agitated, and a long, long way from home.

“Bodie. Bodie.” The prince was standing over him, mercifully blocking the impossible sight of Homa breastfeeding his daughter. “What’s wrong?”

“Men don’t do that.” A flat statement, calm even. “That’s completely impossible.” You had to be calm if you were going to bring the world back to order. And it would obey. Soon. There would be a reasonable explanation.

“Every father does. If he can. Do you mean your -”

“No, he fucking didn’t! Jesus Christ! This is some -”

“OK. OK.” Soothing hands on his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t -” A turn of the head, some quiet words to the other two in Hass Embrun, and the parents immediately went through to the other room, closing the door behind them. “Bodie. I’m sorry. I simply didn’t -”

“It’s disgusting. How could you’ve -”

“No, it isn’t. Stop it. Our research should have been better, but I’m not going to apologise for my biology.”

They looked at one another, not touching. Bodie’s hand clenched and unclenched in the upholstery of the couch.

Finally, the prince broke the silence. “Let’s go down to the kitchen. Get something to eat. It’s hours since lunch.”

* * * * *

The kitchen was the size you’d expect in a castle. It looked as if they only used a small corner of it: the prince flicked just one switch of the array inside the door, and Bodie couldn’t really make out how far the room stretched into the darkness—except that it _was_ far. They finished off the stew that seemed to have been left for them, used the best part of a loaf in mopping up the sauce, and then made a large pot of kenit. Bodie kept up a stream of questions and comments, not wanting to think about what he’d seen, and the prince cooperated.

“Take this up to our room?” The prince was holding up a tray.

“OK. Should we let them know where we’ve gone?”

“We’ll see them tomorrow morning. They know I’d call if there was an emergency.”

So there wasn’t an emergency? Bodie wondered if he should feel slighted. Yet another route to their room, though the corridors started looking familiar after a few minutes.

The river was still out there, and the moonlight and the woods. They sat on the fine-boned, thoroughbred couch, not quite touching, and drank their kenit.

Bodie always preferred to take the initiative, once he’d got himself in a state to do so. With a sigh: “And I promised I’d behave perfectly.”

“Could’ve been worse. For a while there I thought you were going to be sick.”

“Me too. I’m sorry. But that’s _my_ biology, you know.”

“Yeah. No apologies, OK? On either side. Let’s make that a rule.”

“OK. They going to be talking to me tomorrow?”

“They’re not like that. Not as if you were doing it deliberately, was it? We’ll make sure you don’t see it again, though.”

“I - Yeah, probably best. But _she_ does it as well, doesn’t she?”

“Course. They take it in turns. D’you mind seeing Ferros breastfeeding? Just out of interest.”

“Um… Rather not. Never had much to do with kids. Always knew I’d never have any. Quite happy to keep nipples just for sex, thank you.”

“Fair enough, but… You’re going to have to get used to it. A bit. You’ll see it around a lot. Surprised you haven’t before.”

“Then we’d better keep you on hand to apologise for me. Steer me away.”

* * * * *

Soon afterwards they moved to the bed, just taking off their shoes and jackets to lie on top of the covers. The pillows smelt faintly of some spicy herb—probably as sweet as lavender to the prince.

“So how’s the visit for you so far, Ray? Apart from all of this.”

“Not bad. If she does have a good night and we get to see her first thing tomorrow, then we can start to enjoy the rest of it. It’s good to have you here. It makes so much difference. With you around, I could even consider living here again.”

“Not on my account.” Darkly. The prince just chuckled and burrowed closer to Bodie’s chest.

After they emerged from their embrace they read for a while, then the prince suggested a long bath to help them get to sleep—maybe clip an hour off the jet-lag. The bath was waist-deep, a square, tiled pool set under the windows, and easily big enough for two. It had a ledge in it, facing the windows, and they sat on that, and soaped one another, and acted as if their erections belonged to two other men altogether.

Bodie knew he kept on staring at Ray’s nipples—well, sneaking looks, really—and wasn’t surprised when Ray eventually took his hand and pressed his palm over the peaked flesh. “It’s the same as this morning, you know.”

“I know.” He moved his hand in a slow caress, but paying more attention to the area beyond the nipple than he would have that morning. “So I suppose if we - Well, not us. But if you’d -” He swallowed. “Then you’d’ve…”

“Yes, I would. If I could. But it was never very likely to work out like that.”

“What happens? Do you grow -”

“I think there’s some swelling. Not much. It’s not something you’d get to see first-hand, is it? At least, not when you’re of an age to pay attention.”

Bodie frowned as he continued his caresses, feeling the ribs under the skin, and imagining the difference with the cushioning of a small breast. “Does it go down afterwards?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t the babies mind? The hair. And it being so flat?”

“Don’t seem to. Food’s food, eh?”

It was beyond his control: an external force, it seemed, was pushing his head down, opening his mouth around Ray’s nipple. He would have sucked, but he couldn’t make a seal, so instead he drew his tongue over it again and again, mouth running with appetite and saliva. Within seconds they were both panting with excitement, now fully erect. Bodie knew his feelings were not pure, a churning of freakshow revulsion and fascination in there that he had no business bringing to sex with this man he adored. But moments like this were surely inevitable when you brought two species together. And in the next moment you accepted the differences and moved on.

“Where’d’you pack the lubricant? I have to have you. I have to.”

“In the - I’ll get it.” The prince climbed out of the bath and fetched a sachet from his sponge bag. Bodie stopped him when he reached the last step up, and turned him to sit on the wide edge of the tub. It was perfect: the bath might have been designed for this.

The sight of himself pressing in—contrasted with the white of the tiles—was so good, and Ray’s cries so surprised. He returned to Ray’s nipples with undiminished fascination, pinching, then soothing, exploring for minutes while Ray gasped and leaned back more and more heavily against him. Then he withdrew completely, so he could press in again, and this time there was a tone of satisfied expectation to Ray’s cries. Again: and anguish without complaint. Enough. For this time. He reached around to grasp Ray’s cock, and soon finished it for both of them.

* * * * *

They hadn’t drawn the curtains, and the arrival of the sun and the sound of the river woke them earlier than they would have wished. Bodie wanted to draw the covers up over his head and sink back down, but they couldn’t stay four hours out of sync with the household for the entire weekend. It would hurt, and it might as well hurt now. He dragged himself up onto his elbows, peered towards the windows with watering eyes, and yawned hugely.

“When’s breakfast?”

“‘bout half an hour, I think.” The prince was hiding his face in the pillow.

“Stacks of hot, buttered toast, and the best tea in a silver pot, brought to the door?”

“Only if you go and fetch it yourself. Why didn’t we bring any coffee? Why didn’t you think of it, huh?”

“So you don’t have an army of loyal servants?”

“The house has. Staff. Not us. The house is a tyrant. Ask anyone.”

“So that’s where you learnt it.” He slid his feet to the floor, sat slumped for a couple of minutes, then heaved himself upright with a heroic effort. “Race you to the bathroom.” At least Ray was awake enough to laugh.

* * * * *

This time they took the longest route yet to the other side of the house: outside and through the maze of terraces. There were a few small clouds around, a slight haze downriver and over the sea, and a faint breeze—all perfectly welcome. The prince stopped frequently to admire the state of the gardens, getting some ideas for the restoration of his balcony. Bodie just nodded and agreed with everything, happy with any idea as long as it wouldn’t require any work from him.

They saw the others when they were still a few terraces away. The prince shouted and waved, and they looked up, waved back, then got very busy with something or other.

“Getting the girls to drink up, probably.”

“Yeah. How _are_ you with that, this morning?”

“Better. Than I was, anyway. Completely: I don’t know yet.”

“Well, let’s slow down. Give them time.” Bodie took some steps in exaggerated slow motion, the prince giggled and swiped at him, and they consumed a few minutes in a scuffle.

The twins were safely back in the carrycot between their parents’ chairs by the time Bodie and the prince reached the steps that led down to the breakfast terrace—if, indeed, they had ever been elsewhere.

“Good morning. We didn’t think we’d see the two of you for hours.”

“Couldn’t miss the best part of the day. What c’n I get you, Bodie?”

“Hot buttered toast? Tea in a silver pot? I dunno. The usual.”

“I’ll do my best.” Bodie stood looking for a few moments after the prince had disappeared through the doorway at the back of the terrace, then gave a mental shrug and took the chair next to Homa. This put him opposite the girl who looked about twenty and was doing her utmost to hide behind her fringe. He wouldn’t go over and give her a hug—take her all weekend to recover.

“Hello.” With his best, most-tame smile. “You must be Lamon. So I’ve finally met all of Ray’s brothers and sisters.”

~Hello. I am glad to meet you.~ No, you’re not, sweetheart, but I won’t take it personally. He inflicted his smile on her for a second or two longer, then had mercy and turned his attention to the others.

“How did _you_ sleep? They keeping you up all night? They certainly looked tired out now.” Actually, they looked more thoughtful than tired, and thoughtful in the same way. What was it like sharing a cot with someone? There must have been a time when Ray and the arsehole were as content and close as that. They’d have been brought out on this terrace, too. Maybe in that same cot.

“Not very good.” Homa, on a yawn and a sigh. “But better than some nights.”

“Can I come over and say hello to them? Or do they not like new people?” He braced his palms on the arms of the chair, ready to get up if given permission. Thoughtful or not, they still looked like mutant weevils and he’d rather stay well away, but he had a lot of ground to make up after last night.

“They’d love to meet their new uncle.” Homa seemed to have forgiven him already. But maybe their expectations hadn’t been high?

“Hello, girls. I mean -” And he switched to Hass Embrun: ~Hello, girls.~ He was kneeling at the foot of the cot, with no idea what to do next.

“No, use English. We want them to learn English too.” Ferros leaned over the cot and switched to a goo-goo voice—another law of nature? “You want to understand Uncle Bodie’s jokes, don’t you?”

“Er… Uncle William, I think.” He was surprised at his own rejection of the first title.

“William?”

“It’s my Christian name. My personal name.” He touched his chest. “Like ‘Ray’. Bodie is my family name.” Then he wagged a finger over the cot. “But you’re the only two who’re allowed to use it, mind.” Chubby hands reached up for his finger, and he surrendered it to the girl on the left, the one with the most green in her eyes. “Oh!” He blinked hard, ambushed by the tiny, confident grip, and then by the beaming smile. “What’s her name?”

“Afmad.”

“Hello, Afmad. Haven’t you got beautiful eyes? Just like your Uncle Ray. And her sister?” The other baby was still trying to reach for him, and he wished he’d planned this better—his free hand was on the wrong side of his body.

“Akula. Who’s got eyes like her grandmother, haven’t you?” Homa was walking his fingers up Akula’s body, and within seconds she’d forgotten all about Uncle William.

Afmad was pulling his finger towards her mouth. “You’re going to be disappointed, love.” Unless they all had a thing about human sweat. No, they didn’t. She complained good-naturedly, then released him—she’d been exploring, presumably, rather than hungry. His imagination gave him a flash of her little round belly, brim-full of milk, then his skin prickled with the awareness that he was kneeling just feet away from a man with breasts. _I won’t look for them. I won’t. Ever._ Not revulsion any longer, not really. More… the beginnings of an unhealthy fixation. Just don’t encourage it, and once they were home it would go away.

The prince was elbowing his way through the door with a heaped tray. Bodie got to his feet. “Take something for you?”

“Just clear a space on the table.” There was a large stone table in the centre of the terrace, some distance from the group of chairs. It already held a couple of trays and other breakfast equipment, although most of the plates and cups were distributed among the smaller tables.

They served themselves, then settled on either side of one of the small tables. The prince chatted—in their language—to his younger sister, who was almost at ease with him, although she couldn’t forget that Bodie was there, and kept sliding glances towards him. He added a couple of remarks to the conversation, which Ray seemed to appreciate, but he didn’t push it.

“How is she?” To Lamon: ~Our mother.~ “Or is this too early for her, now?”

Ferros shook her head sadly. “I wish it was. I don’t know when she last really slept.” ~How did she /?/, Lamon? Did she speak?~

~Not yet. She was /?/. I think it means she’s /?/ to see Ray.~ She stood up. ~She’ll have eaten. If she’s going to eat. I’ll go to her.~

~Ask her if she’d like to see us.~

Lamon nodded, gave another of those glances at Bodie, and then scuttled inside.

“What have you two got planned for the day? You four, I should say.”

“It’s Homa’s turn to shop. And mine to clean. And these two want to talk about amaral kucham…” (“Profit margins.”) “… and hagali…” (“Distribution routes.”) “… with Uncle Malun. We’ve been telling them how interesting it is, and you can see how excited they are.”

They all laughed. “He’s still arriving at midday, is he? Has he visited since we got back?”

“No. He said he’d stay the night. But he’ll probably find some reason to go back to work after half an hour. You know what he’s like.”

“Oh, yes. What about the others?”

Ferros shrugged. “West was here. But he didn’t see her. She only wants to see you. Maybe after that she’ll…”

The prince nodded, and there was silence for a while, apart from Homa talking quietly to the girls. Bodie got refills of kenit for himself and the prince, then sat scanning the landscape for signs of movement: large black birds wheeling over the woods, a sleek shape dashing down the bank and disappearing into the water, a car crossing the second bridge, revealed by the glint from its windows.

Lamon was back. ~She would like to see you. She is ready now.~ The prince was already on his feet, and Bodie seconds afterwards.

* * * * *

The prince hadn’t had to go far to get breakfast: there was a small kitchen beyond the door to the terrace, simple and immaculate, with a hand-operated dumb-waiter taking up most of one wall. Then a narrow corridor, and a curving set of stairs downwards. They were heading towards the back of the house and everything had the feel of “servants’ quarters”. Did they keep her in the coal cellar?

“Ray. Ray. Slow down.” When the gap between them had closed, Bodie took his hand. “It’ll be alright. And this time I do know what to expect. You won’t have to worry about me.” Not that there was any sign that he was—off in a place of his own, clearly. All Bodie got was a brief nod, but their hands remained clasped until they reached the plain white door. There should have been gloom and cobwebs, Bodie felt, not diffuse summer sunshine through the skylights and the smell of flowers and polish.

~Mother. It’s Ray.~ He was speaking into the panel by the door. But was the door locked from the inside or the outside? ~With my husband, Bodie. Will you see us?”~

~Come in. Come in. My sons.~ You would never mistake that for a normal voice. Its tension was infectious, and Bodie’s throat became suddenly bone-dry.

She was perched on the edge of a large armchair which was set at an angle to the broad window-ledge, and she was smiling up at them with all her might. It was far worse than Bodie had imagined.

 _Christ! She’s in agony. Don’t they - Christ!_ He rescued some sort of smile from his grimace and continued walking towards her. Ray was doing much better—he seemed genuinely pleased to see her, and relieved, which suggested that this truly was one of her good days. _Oh, Christ._

She had hauled herself to her feet and now she and Ray were holding each other close. If she could stand entirely upright she would be as tall as her son, and the foundations of a strong, handsome face were still resisting the erosions of pain and near-starvation. Her jet-black hair was clean, catching the light as Ray’s fingers moved through it—so they didn’t neglect her, although even Bodie could tell she hadn’t seen a hairdresser in a long time.

The prince pressed his lips to her cheek, then stepped back, and she turned to Bodie with her arms outstretched, and still with that heroic smile. He found himself stroking her back, over and over, willing the pain away—but the tremors were continuous. Very soon they got even worse, and after a brief moment of blaming himself, he realised it was the effort of standing, and he eased her down into the chair.

~Thank you, my son.~ He tilted his head for the brief kiss, feeling a part of this family as never before. ~Sit down, the two of you. Let me look at you properly.~

They sat on the couch at the other side of the window, at right-angles to her chair, and she studied them in silence for some minutes. They moved so they were touching, and generated an air of satisfaction and happiness to match her gentle approval, not giving any hint that they were aware of how deeply her fingers were clawed into the arms of her chair.

Finally, she nodded, slowly. ~I have never seen you so happy, my /?/. They told me that Bodie was /?/ good for you, and now I see it for myself.~

The prince turned to look into Bodie’s eyes, and Bodie wondered if they were going to kiss. He was ready—yearning, even—to bend forward at the slightest initiative from his husband, but the prince only touched his shoulder, and that briefly. ~He is my /?/. In all things.~

~Yes. I see it. I see it. And Bodie, the /?/ of your /?/ is /?/. Ray’s father and I were /?/. But if it had meant leaving my people after only a week, and coming to live among /?/. Then I would have /?/. But I hear you did not even think of it.~ She shook her head in wonder. ~My son.~

 _I love him. With all my heart._ But he didn’t know their word for “love”. He took Ray’s hand in both of his.  ~It was easy. He made it easy.~

~Well… That would be the first time in his life.~ Bodie couldn’t remember that his own mother had ever looked at him with the rueful affection that Ray was meeting with a grin—it spoke of complete acceptance. She used to be a ship’s captain, didn’t she? Or more than that, probably. It would have rankled at first, but he could have settled down to taking orders from her. Now she looked at them both, then gave a long sigh. ~I thought I would need to see you for longer, but it _is_ /?/. So I can let you /?/ and enjoy the morning. ~ Rather, she was exhausted.

As one, they stood, then bent to kiss her cheeks. The smile she gave them as they left seemed almost easy.

They walked back along the corridor slowly and in silence. At the first place where it branched, the prince stopped, and after some moments said, “Malun isn’t due until midday. Let’s go somewhere and have sex until he arrives.”

 _No, let’s make love._ Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard him use the word even in English—but then they didn’t need to. “Back to our room?”

A brief nod, and then he was taking them down the branch to the left.

* * * * *

It wasn’t really the sex they’d been seeking, more this peace afterwards, when their bodies regarded the other’s limbs and pulse and breath as their own.

“Can’t your doctors do anything for her?” His quietest whisper.

“She won’t take the drugs.”

“And she should have gone down to a cold during the winter?”

“She’s too strong. It’s a curse.”

“But then I - I wouldn’t have got to meet her. I’m sorry.” An apology for this sadistic selfishness.

A grunt. “She’d have been polite to Gavio. She _would_ have welcomed him. But now I think the real reason she wanted me to wear Udom Kol was to make me think properly about the way I was going. About whether it was fair to either me or Gavio to have us spend the rest of our lives together. Can’t say I ever thought exactly like that but maybe it sank in. So when we met I was ready… And if she hadn’t made me wear it, we wouldn’t… So. Yes. I’m glad she got to see us too. And I’m sure she is too. It’s frightening, really, how much parents want their children to be happy, to be well. Don’t think I could cope with that kind of feeling. There’s no room, anyway, with all I feel for you.”

“Were you happy here, mostly?”

“Mostly, yeah. Just thought I’d be even happier somewhere else. And I was right. The worst was… everyone thinking they knew who I was, what I was going to be. Even without… pressure, you couldn’t get away from it.” Silence for a while, then: “Would they have liked _me_? Your parents?”

How to answer that one? But he couldn’t lie now, in case he wanted to tell the truth later. “Probably take an hour’s solid talking to make them let me in the door. And then they’d want to see my passport.”

“Eh? Why?”

“They wouldn’t know who I was. I ran away from home when I was fourteen. Haven’t seen them since.”

“Fourteen? But you were a child!”

“Yeah. Couldn’t’ve told me that then, though.”

“Why? Why did you do it?”

“Thought I’d be happier somewhere else.”

“And were you?” Hushed, apprehensive.

“Eventually.”

“Oh, Bodie.” He closed his eyes, warmed and sighing under his husband’s hands, as if this was the first time he had ever realised that another person could regard his wellbeing as important.

* * * * *

Malun was prompt, the Registration people were ready and efficient, and they were back at the house by one o’clock. The flyer was like a helicopter to ride in, although much quieter. To be honest, he and Ray could probably find better things to do with the money—though they wouldn’t be dropping their standing joke. They’d decided to leave the sightseeing until An Uraba (the “Sunday”), when an early start would give them a good six or seven hours before their flight. Still, their brief visit had showed Bodie that the city was much larger than Dishna, and also more staid, with straight lines predominating.

They all got together for lunch—salad and fresh bread and fruit—which this time was eaten in a semi-formal dining area at one end of the gallery. The conversation was mostly in English, and Malun disappointed them by chatting quite normally, with barely a mention of the business. He made a fuss over the girls, handling them with a confidence and success that surprised Bodie—but then he’d had the practice with his six nieces and nephews. _You held Ray like that, thirty years ago. You’ve known him all his life._ But none of them, none of them, knew Ray as well as he did now—or even as he had after the first week.

Afterwards, they set off on the tour of the house. The prince explained that the house was roughly circular, with a hole in the middle sunk right down to the river. Apart from the visit to his mother and to the main kitchens, they’d spent all of their time so far in the front section of the circle, which faced downriver and contained the most impressive rooms—the back section was where the work got done, and most visitors did not enter it.

“I’ve not seen any sign of this hole. Like a ventilation shaft, or something?”

“You might have seen it from the flyer, but you and Malun were talking about flying. And I didn’t point it out because… it’s not meant to be seen from the air. Not the first time, anyway. Spoils it.”

“Where is it, then?”

“All in good time.”

So they made their way slowly through the front section, taking in library, performance room, gym, formal dining room, sitting rooms of various style and sizes, and bedroom after bedroom. Most of the rooms were rarely used, but they were all perfectly kept.

“As I said, you see anywhere you fancy for sex, just say the word.” They were standing in front of the most imposing bed yet—waist-high, and with a huge canopy. The carving and the inlay and the embroidery looked like a good ten years of work.

“A bed like that. I could not perform.”

“Know what you mean. But folklore has it, that’s where I was conceived.”

Bodie had another look at the expanse, and then around the room, where the bed was only one extravagance among many. “This was their bedroom?”

“No. We lived at the sides or the back. It was a rainy day at the weekend, and they were going around checking for leaks. Or that’s the story.”

“So when’s the last time anyone actually slept in it?”

“I dunno. Maybe not long. The business uses the house a lot. Meetings, negotiations.”

Bodie was still thinking about Ray’s parents and the ceremonial look to this bed. “All the paintings around here seem to be landscapes. Or still lifes or something. I thought you said that… you know, was a major theme.”

“Yeah, but no one forces us to have it on our walls. Come back to the library, I’ll show you some art books.”

“Later. Maybe.”

Bodie was getting the hang of the layout—knowing about the circular shape had made a big difference—and he recognised the approach to their bedroom without difficulty.

“We’re right at the limits of the front section. From here on it’s side.”

“So your room was further along here?” Bodie stepped forward eagerly, but the prince was hanging back by a small door to the left.

“For the last few years, yeah. Before that I was on the other side.”

“Does it have any of your stuff in it?” He had turned back.

“No. When I move out, I _really_ move out. Callous little bastard I was then.”

“So what’s through here?”

“Oh, nothing, really.”

After a few paces Bodie realised that they were in another gallery, though much narrower than the other, and curving inwards. The sound from the river was getting louder and louder, and it was a reasonable guess that they were approaching this hole. The gallery seemed to have been designed to amplify the noise, being all bare stone and tiles—very pale, and holding onto light as well as sound. And now, the first window.

“Oh, my God.” They were a devious bunch. Thinking about the design of the house, it now seemed obvious that they’d given a high priority to disguising the fact that it was built around a waterfall. You had to see it from the air, or be brought into this gallery. It was a drop of thirty feet or more, and at this level they were about ten feet below the top.

There was a balcony outside the gallery, and the prince took them onto this through the first available door. “It’s summer, so it’s quite quiet. Come spring, with the melt-water, you can’t hear yourself speak out here.”

“And that’s a cave back there, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Artificial, mind you. And they chipped away at the ledge to make it more dramatic—give more variety to the flow. There’s some pictures in the library that show what it was like before.”

“Amazing.”

“I thought you’d like it. I spent hours out here - Well, up there, mostly.” There were small terrace areas above the gallery, all well-separated.

“How do you - No, I see the steps now. Or can you get to them from the house?”

“No. I reckon Grogan—the architect—must have had the same sort of adolescence I did. Desperate for privacy. I mean, look at the wall over there.” He was pointing at the inward-curving wall of the back section of the circle, which looked like the inside of a large gear-wheel, cut with huge vertical teeth. “Putting the grooves in and setting the windows in the sides. The light’s OK in there, but there’s no view at all.”

“Unless you get yourself a periscope.”

“Dismissable offence.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, could be. If it’s me who catches you. And I don’t know of any pictures taken in this direction, either.”

“So that wasn’t on Gavio’s list?” He gestured up at the nearest terrace.

“No. And I don’t think I’d - Well, I might have. You fancy it?”

“At night, yeah. Take a bottle of wine up.”

“Tomorrow? We’d have to be quiet, since it’s summer.”

“You got plans for tonight, then?”

“Not really, but… I’d be happy with a repeat of last night.”

Bodie beamed, delighted. “Including what led up to it?”

“If that’s what it takes.” They both laughed.

“And I’m OK with all that now. I was going to say, at lunch. But the twins didn’t need feeding.”

“That was… quick.”

Bodie shrugged. “I’m adaptable.”

“Great. I’ll call in and tell Ferros, then. It’ll make things easier for them.”

* * * * *

The tour of the side and back was relatively quick. Bodie preferred this section, with its bare stonework, white plaster and paint, and polished wood—but it gave few reasons to stop and gawp. The prince’s old room showed no sign that anyone had ever lived in it. The bed was on the far side, under the deep-ledged window that ran most of the length of the wall. Bodie lay down on the hard, narrow mattress, and looked out at a steep, rocky slope.

“What’d’you used to think about, lying here?” The prince was sitting beside him, on the edge of the bed.

“Sex, mostly.” With a broad, lopsided smile. “Or that’s what I remember.”

“Who with?”

“Oh, a big dark man.” Probably not the truth, but never mind. “Who’d come and carry me off.”

“And then beg you to tame him.”

“No, that came later. Very straightforward I was, in those days. What about you?”

“Yeah.” It had been all women, in his thoughts. For him, men had been an acquired taste—acquired through necessity—and it had been a long time before he’d found himself building men into his fantasies. “Let’s meet here, tomorrow night. I fancy sneaking in here and carrying you off.”

“Great. But then you’ll have to set the wine up, and everything. ‘cos it’s a complete shock to me, of course. I’m just a poor innocent lad.”

When Bodie had stopped laughing: “D’you have a local ghost? Materialises one night in a hundred years to have his way with unsuspecting princes?”

“Now that you mention it… Reckon I caught a glimpse of him at an impressionable age.”

* * * * *

They visited the laundry, the greenhouses, the boilers, any number of storerooms and offices, the communications room, and long corridors of staff quarters. All were deserted.

“They all get the weekend off, do they?”

“Yeah. Not many live here now, anyway. Since we’ve learnt to run our own baths. There’s a couple who stay here all the time, in case of emergencies, but this is their weekend, too.”

“Seems a decent place to work.”

“I think a lot apply just out of curiosity. But the turnover’s supposed to be low, so we must be doing something right.”

They were nearly at the other side now, about to join the last corridor they’d taken to see the prince’s mother. Afterwards, Bodie marvelled at how bad their timing had been—or maybe all it meant was that the soundproofing was good. There had been silence until they reached that last corridor, and then they heard the voices from the mother’s room. Bodie could not make out the words: at first because the voices were muffled, and then, when they grew louder, because they were choked with emotion and—presumably—were using words he did not know. All he could tell was that Ray’s mother was protesting and complaining, and that Malun was attempting some hopeless explanation. They were both weeping.

But it was obviously reaching the prince quite clearly. He stood as if frozen, staring at the wall to the left of the door, but flinching every few seconds as another phrase hit him.

“Ray. Ray.” Nearly a whisper—with a hand on his arm. Bodie didn’t know if it was this, or the latest words from the mother, but in the next instant the prince had whirled around, away from the door, and was running down the corridor, now almost out of sight. “Ray!”

By the time he caught up with him, on the forecourt, the prince was in the car and had the engine running. If Bodie had been a few seconds slower, would he have waited? Probably not. Bodie jumped in, and they were off up the driveway before he’d closed the door.

Again: “Ray,” and a hand on his arm. They were out of the valley and fast approaching the gateway. “Ray. Think about it. There’ll be cars with kids out there. Let’s get out and run or something. We c’n get good and lost in the woods.” There was no sign that the prince had heard him, but just inside the gate he did pull over, in the shadow of the wall. Without looking at Bodie, he got out and walked off quickly between the trees to the right of the gate, the upriver direction.

Bodie left it for at least five minutes before trying again. “Ray? You told me not to leave you but -” A hand had seized his wrist in a bruising grip. “OK. That’s good.” His wrist was released, and they walked on in silence, Bodie now prepared to wait for hours if necessary.

* * * * *

At the sound of a flyer overhead, they both stopped and looked up. From the dark-blue colour, it was Malun’s, heading away from the house at top speed.

The prince checked the time. “Over two hours. I’m impressed. I think that’s a new record.”

Bodie snorted his amusement, then started walking. Looking back: “Find somewhere to sit down for a while?”

“OK. There’s a big rock by the river over this way.” More to the right.

It was a large outcropping on the outside of a bend, moving further and further into the river as the soil on either side was eroded by the fast-flowing water. Eventually it would get cut off—maybe in their lifetimes. On the other side, the ground was flat and marshy, and dotted with birds. They sat with their legs over the edge, arms touching. The house was not in sight.

“So she hated me after all?” Bodie was looking down into the river, which was so clear he could see the stones at the bottom glowing many shades of brown in the sunlight.

“No, it wasn’t that.” Immediate and definite. “She liked you a lot. She’s a lousy liar, at the best of times. It’s more…” A deep sigh. “Don’t know how to explain. Probably not worth it, anyway. She feels… that everything’s fallen apart. Out of control. She’s… frightened by how badly it _could_ have gone wrong. If you’d been different.”

“What was Malun saying?”

“Oh.” He dragged his hands across his face. “Explaining why he’d let it go ahead. I didn’t realise… He never expected it to work. Thought we’d be through with each other inside a week. Then we’d be sending you back with an apologetic note. He never thought he’d be having to tell her - And it sounded as if Ward got to her first. Though I don’t know how.” Finally he looked at Bodie, and reached over to put a hand on his thigh. “Don’t take it wrong. They like you. They all like you. And they think you’re wonderful for me. But - There’s this feeling that it shouldn’t have happened. That it’s the beginning of the end for our family.”

Bodie gathered him close with an arm around his shoulders. “D’you want to go home?”

“Yes, but - This is more or less what I was expecting. Should have warned you, shouldn’t I? Done it again.”

“Well, only that you might react like this. So I’d be sure what to do. Just as well I didn’t know when we went to see her.”

A deep sigh, and he leaned against Bodie, eyes closed. “You _are_ wonderful for me. On my own, I’d be at the airport by now.”

“Yeah, but if I wasn’t here, there wouldn’t be all this trouble. We can go. Just say the word.”

“‘m already home. With you here. Don’t want to miss tonight, either. What about you?”

“I’m fine.” Ray recovered so quickly. Bodie could have fallen in love with him for that alone. “Where can we get a bath like that? Or would it cost more than a flyer?”

“Well, by the time we’d bought a place with a bathroom large enough…”

“Shame. Just have to come and visit when we fancy that kind of fuck.”

“Oh, but that would be all the time.” Deep and low.

“Like now? No bath, but that patch of grass looks just our style.”

Their style was much the same as the morning’s: a gentle, unhurried means to a treasured end. Then they lay together in the shade, drowsing and talking and soaking up the scent of each other and the crushed grass.

“Should we be getting back? Or we’ll never get another invitation.”

“No hurry. Never known Ferros to worry about something that didn’t involve her directly. She’s very restful that way.”

“Well, join them for dinner, then.”

“Yeah. And then I’ll show you that stuff in the library.”

“The art books? Only if there’s a lock on the door.”

“Ah. Take them back to our room, then. But… I’d like you to see what she was like before. For my sake as much as yours. And my father.”

“Yes. Oh, you didn’t show me the dynastic tomb. I’d like to see that.”

“It’s in the city. Far older than the house. We’ll see it before we go back.”

“Good.” And they drowsed again.

* * * * *

They drove back to the house in plenty of time for the next meal. The prince had started them ambling along the riverbank, and it was Bodie who had remembered the car. Bodie went straight back to the room to freshen up, while the prince hunted out his sister to tell her they’d be there for the meal, and everything was fine, and Bodie had adjusted to the breastfeeding.

“They weren’t worrying. Too busy trying to calm her down and swearing at Malun. They’d guessed what had happened.”

“Anything we can do to help?”

“Lay the table, maybe. It’s over now.”

* * * * *

The rest of their visit was uneventful, apart from the sex. They went for a long walk downriver, did some shopping for the parents in the nearest village, looked after the twins for an hour here and there, and made a start on driving lessons for Bodie, which were much easier than the language lessons. Somehow they never got around to the art books.

They left soon after breakfast on An Uraba. The leave-taking was thoroughly affectionate, but contained no hints whatever that the visit would be repeated.

The prince had made it clear that he hated driving in the city, so they left the car and luggage at the airport and took to public transport—which was sufficiently clean and frequent that Bodie’s sense of personal dignity recovered in about an hour.

Before lunch they did the palace. It was a characterless building, though not ugly. Maybe you could call it “neutral”. Its job was to hold the masks, without comment, and it did that very well. The masks were kept in a long, tall cabinet in the innermost room, hanging against a dark-brown backing material. They were all evenly spaced except for Udom Kol and Embrun, whose cheeks were touching. Bodie had never seen Embrun before, and he joined the small crowd in front of the pair.

It was a strange mask, one of the most complex. Hard to tell if it was a man or a woman. The forehead and closed eyes were metallic, and serene in sleep, but then the ends of the eyelashes became black, and the cheeks, nose and upper lip were convincing flesh. Lower lip and chin: none, just the white of bleached jaw-bone, and that should have been ugly, but the transition was smoothly done and clearly not intended to shock. He turned to the prince, mouth open in query, but the prince laid a finger on his lips and shook his head. No, this probably wasn’t the best place to be caught speaking English.

One of the masks had broken and was lying in about twenty scattered pieces on the wooden base at the far right of the cabinet. The colours were black and green, but it wasn’t a mask he recognised from the ship, and all of those were in place, anyway. Even though it wasn’t his religion, it gave him a shiver to see the pieces and the empty holder above. How could they stand it? By ignoring it completely it seemed—which he could probably have predicted.

They didn’t speak until they were on their own out in the grounds—which consisted of a large, immaculate lawn, as neutral as the building. “So what’s the story with Embrun?” They had found one of the rare trees to lean against.

The prince shrugged. “She was one of the Michuri. They were immortals in a sort of paradise. Didn’t have to eat. So no digestive system. Didn’t age, didn’t die. So no sex, no children. She wasn’t even a ‘she’ at first—nothing between her legs. There were these pools of nutrients everywhere and they absorbed it through their skin, so they’d spend a lot of time sitting around in these pools—like Jacuzzis. Very easy life.”

“And then?”

“One day Udom Kol fell out of the sky into her pool. He was the last child in a family of gods, and the others had all made disastrous marriages. With lumps of rock, thunderbolts, snails… You name it. He was the last chance, or the family would die out, and he’d been very close before, two or three times, but he’d used more self-control than anyone else in the family ever had, and they’d turned around and he’d been released.

“So, he landed in her pool, and it started happening between them. Terrified them both. She was turning into a mortal: growing a stomach, genitals, everything. And he was horrified at what he was doing to them both. So they did everything he’d done before, all the ways of controlling it. Spent a month—or that’s how it’s translated—apart. Chaperones. All that. And it didn’t make any difference. They had to have each other. At the end she was fully mortal. The others made her leave. He had to teach her how to eat. And so on. They had twelve children—six pairs of twins—and then they died of old age within hours of each other.”

“And that’s you and me?”

“Yeah. Brutal, eh?”

“Er… If your researchers told you that 1980s Britain was an immortals’ paradise, you should fire the lot of them, right now.”

The prince laughed. “But you can see the similarities, can’t you? People are already excited to have a new couple.” He sighed. “Everyone knew that the last Embrun—my father—that he’d died. They knew how and they knew that he wasn’t old. Things were very sad for a long time. So to have a new couple is good news. And when people realise how close we are to the original it will seem like… a blessing. The best omen. I just wish my mother and Malun could see it like that.”

“So the mask’s her as an immortal -” He held his hand at the level of his forehead. “- and then as a mortal -” Now over his cheeks and nose. “- and then dead?” The chin.

“Yeah. And mine is Udom Kol at the moment he lands in the pool and it starts happening. With your hands on my face.”

“Where did they live afterwards? If she was thrown out of paradise?”

“His family made this planet and they gave it to her. Pen Embrun. It’s her planet.”

“Mmm. And what they _really_ wanted was a toaster.” They giggled, and rolled around on the lawn for a while. It turned out that Bodie had lost all his inhibitions against kissing a man in public—adaptable, indeed.

“So that’s why, on our wedding night, when I said…” A few inhibitions remained, though.

“Yes. And when you said you didn’t know the story… Amazing. Since then I’ve caught myself thinking about it as if it was literally true. Not a myth at all.”

“But what if…” Bodie was frowning. “Your mum wore Udom Kol, didn’t she? But she couldn’t have made the offer, because…”

“No, she did. They were fine about it. But you’re right—it can be a problem if the man doesn’t want to be buggered.” Bodie went light-headed for a few seconds, too stunned even to blush. “But it’s only a problem if it happens really quickly, like it did with us, and that’s very rare. My parents knew each other for years beforehand. Had been lovers for most of that. Plenty of time to agree who gets to make the offer when the time comes.”

“So is? That. What. The - You said they were the last couple and there were paintings of them. Do they really show…?”

“Yeah.”

“Bloody hell.”

The prince was grinning. “You think we’re a bunch of perverts, don’t you?”

“Did I say that? No, very… ‘advanced’ people. Just hope it doesn’t take me the full four centuries to catch up with you.”

“Don’t forget we’re going through a staid period at the moment.”

“Five centuries, then. You reckon you can wait that long?”

“I’ll have myself put in cold storage.”

“Can you do that?” Sincere curiosity.

“No. We tried it. Didn’t like it. You’re stuck with me for the duration.”

Bodie’s only reply was a besotted smile, and they rolled on the lawn some more.

They had started making plans to move on when Bodie remembered the other puzzle from inside the palace. “Maybe I’m not supposed to mention this, but… why hasn’t anyone cleared up that broken mask? I thought you’d all take better care.”

The prince looked surprised. “That’s not a broken mask. That _is_ Gagras. That’s how he’s displayed. He’s our Satan. _That_ is what he _is_.”

“How does anyone wear him, then? Or don’t they?”

“My sister Lamon does.” Bodie nodded as the memory revived. “She wears a different mask for each appearance. They’re made by… special people. Or they were. We’re still using the stock from centuries back. And afterwards she smashes it and it’s put in the case like that.”

“So he’s Evil, then?”

“You _can_ see it like that, but it’s more… pure destruction. Betrayal. The worst threat to everything we know is important, everything we need to rely on. Glarus. It’s generally taken quite specifically. Whereas your Satan seems to be everywhere.”

“And you make the shyest member of your family wear him? I wonder about you lot.”

“He doesn’t have any words to say. It was _her_ choice. They said.”

* * * * *

They walked from the palace to the restaurant, which was on the harbour. The walk was at least three miles and took in stinking-rich residential areas, public buildings for any number of functions, offices and workshops, streets of shops—some grand, some small and personal—and a generous quantity of green space. It was a formal city, thoroughly aware of its importance and age—required visiting, certainly, but would you want to live there?

The restaurant was busy and lunch took several hours, depriving them of the option of walking to the cemetery, although the view from the train suggested it would have been more of the same anyway. The tomb was smaller and simpler than Bodie had expected: no statues, no wrought iron, no pious phrases, not even a roof or a doorway. Just shallow steps up to three low walls—a square with a missing side—carved on the outside with hundreds of names. And inside the shelter of the walls a deep, brick-lined pit, covered with huge slabs—there were no individual graves.

“And your father’s buried here?”

“No. They lost the ship completely. But his name’s up here.” The third stone from the left of the missing wall, in the third tier. “See, his dates under the name. And my mother just under that.” Bodie still found their writing system very difficult, but with that clue he could decipher the two names. They were a few inches apart, and with stylised versions of the two masks carved between them, touching, but with Embrun set slightly above the other.

He grimaced. “You really were certain she’d go this winter, weren’t you?”

“Oh!” The prince was surprised. “No, we always do this. As soon as a generation’s complete—I mean, we know there won’t be any more—the stone for that generation gets filled in with the names. And when you die they add the dates. And if you get married, they add the name of your partner, with the masks to show which was Udom Kol and which was Embrun. Look, I’m over here.” The next stone to the left, filled in with six names side-by-side, and with the masks and a seventh name added below the one to the far left. Bodie immediately recognised his husband’s name in the middle, and shivered. “They’ll get around to adding you in a month or so. And the twins will go here -” Around the corner, to a blank stone—all the remaining stones in the third tier seemed to be blank. “- when my brothers and sisters have done all the breeding they’re going to do.”

Bodie went back to the stone for their generation, and reached out to run his fingers over Ray’s name. “How will they spell my name? In English? Or in your version of it?”

“Hadn’t thought of that. Both, maybe? What would you like?”

“Both, I think.” So people could read it, but wouldn’t mistake him for one of them. That was his instinctive response, and it was some seconds before he realised the difference from his wishes for his lifetime, which were to fit in. Odd. He took a few steps backwards, and surveyed the structure. “You just keep building up, do you? Adding more layers?”

“Four is the maximum. Forty-eight generations. After that they put in the fourth wall, add a roof, and we start another one somewhere else. Look, there’s a finished one over there.”

Bodie started walking towards the completed tomb. “Amazing. A family that’s older than yours.”

“Oh, I doubt it. This is our second. The first one fell into the sea during an earthquake.”

Bodie decided not to ask how long ago that had been. “Ours is going to look pretty sad, isn’t it? Just one stone.”

“Sad? No, the one-level tombs look good in the right setting—on their own, or with others. I’ll show you some when we get home. There aren’t any here. All these plots were staked out at the wrong time—when they were executing men like us. And erasing us from the stones. Which is either ironic or appropriate, since it was usually death by stoning.”

“Fuck! So your people haven’t always been…?” How d’you want to put it, Bodie? _“Kind to queers?”_

“It’s gone through phases. I hope it’s settled down for good, now, but I’d probably have said that if I’d been alive during the last good time. Amazing how often society can forget the basic fact that there’s nothing to be gained from punishing us.”

“Deterrent?”

“Well, yes… Wouldn’t have worked, though, with you and me. I’d’ve -” He took both of Bodie’s hands and gazed into his eyes. “- stayed on Earth with you. Disappeared with you, somehow. We’d’ve had _some_ time together.”

Fondly: “You talk such crap at times, Ray. But don’t ever stop.”

“So you wouldn’t…?” The prince was frowning, gripping his hands more tightly.

“It’s… You remember when we were talking about if we’d known what was going to happen? And you said you’d stay at home with Gavio. And I said I’d fake ‘flu. I think… we’d have made sure it never happened. Even without the stoning. Because, yeah, once it started, we were lost. Gone.”

The prince released his hands, but only to bring him into a tight embrace. “We’ll die together. Within an hour of each other like Udom Kol and Embrun. I promise you.” A fierce whisper in his ear. Bodie said nothing, but returned the embrace full-force.

* * * * *

They were quiet on the journey back: the odd comment about what they were reading, about swapping parts of their meal on the flight, about the changed weather back home. The clouds hadn’t taken over the sky, though, and it was still warm enough to sit outside on the ferry.

“Home!” Actually, their pyramid had yet to appear, but Bodie’s heartbeat didn’t care.

“Yeah.” A slow, delighted grin, then a slight frown. “The weekend wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“Well, let’s not do it too often, but no, it was OK. What about you? Better or worse than you thought?”

“Better, but… Now I really don’t want to go back. Don’t want her to see you again if that’s how… Not that she’d expect it. If we want to see Ferros and the twins, we’d better invite them here.”

“Bit of a journey, with kids.”

“OK by transporter. Expensive, but not so _they’d_ notice.”

“How’s Malun going to be with us? Blaming us?”

“Dunno. Maybe. Probably thinks if I - That it’s yet another of my perversions.” Then he started, and his hand shot out to cover Bodie’s. “I don’t mean - You mustn’t -”

With a smouldering look: “Ray, I _love_ your perversions. I’d take it as a compliment.”

A relieved smile, and roughened breath. “Oh, it is. It is. Not that he’s to judge. My mother used to say he was always baffled by sex.”

“Yeah? You reckon he’s ever done it?”

“Well, not with anyone else.” Grins, and the intensity faded. They watched as further pyramids came into view. Bodie might have been able to identify their flat by counting levels, but he didn’t—wait until it came by instinct. Then the grip on his hand tightened, and he turned to see the prince’s serious expression. “Are you happy here? So far. Is this -” A vague gesture toward the town with his free hand. “- somewhere you can be happy?”

“I think it’s great. Great building. Everything you need. And everyone’s been very friendly. Nice countryside. And great weather.” He shrugged, smiling broadly. “Like being on holiday.”

“So you’re happy? You don’t - Is there anything else I can do?”

Make it turn into England for a day in every month? He hadn’t felt really homesick yet, but he could imagine there would be times when he would. In Africa, it had come upon him without warning, and after the worst years were over, too. Didn’t seem to have much to do with being happy or unhappy. “I’m very happy. Never been made so welcome anywhere.”

Fiercely: “I don’t want you to regret… Ever. I’d do anything…”

“Ray.” He leaned forward and laid his other hand over the prince’s. “Not likely, is it? Any more than it is with you.”

“Oh!” Surprise. Revelation, even. “Well, when you put it like that. Stupid question.” Bodie smiled at him—rather smugly—eyebrow raised, then settled back in his chair.

Strangely, in the next few minutes of pyramid-watching, Bodie decided that after all it was worth worrying about his own current and future happiness. Not for his own sake, though, but for the prince’s. Of course, twenty-six days out of the month, everything would be wonderful—went without saying. But suppose he had a bad day at work, or someone got weird about the Embrun thing, or whatever? He could just see those days being harder on Ray than on himself.

So, a new responsibility: to do what he could to avoid having bad days. And what _could_ he do, for the time being? “Ray, d’you feel like carrying on making your language tapes? Can we set up the equipment here? And start having days when we don’t speak English between the two of us.”

“Sure. Same schedule as we had on the ship? Y’know, I reckon I could sell these tapes. You’d be a great advert.”

“Hah. First let’s get me a job where I get to say something other than, ‘And will that be eat here or take away?’ Then I’ll think about doing your advert.”

“You worrying about that?”

“On and off.”

“I wouldn’t. Bright. Fit. They’ll be falling over themselves.”

Bodie tilted his head in a semblance of agreement, but privately claimed the right to keep on worrying.

* * * * *

The flat was stuffy, so they immediately opened both sets of doors onto the balcony, and when the coffee was made—their first in over three days!—they drank it outside. It was early evening here but nearly midnight for them, and they were looking for ways to stay awake.

The prince suggested calling in on Plassen, and they passed an hour or so with him, most of which was taken up with giving Bodie a tour of their major periods and styles of music. The man played several instruments and these dominated the living room—the shapes and sounds were all new, but you either plucked it, hit it, or blew into it, so no change there. He also seemed to be keen on art, with wall-space for paintings getting a higher priority than furniture, and with paintings hung as low as knee-height. Abstracts (as far as Bodie could tell), sketches of melancholy young men, surreal group portraits, small studies of vegetation, and interiors featuring musical instruments. But nothing on “that” theme. Just hope he didn’t move on to a tour of their major themes and styles of art—and he didn’t, this time.

“What’s he do?” They were halfway across the park, having decided to take a walk out of town.

“He’s a teacher, at a school for children with mental handicaps, just outside the city. He does music therapy. Or that’s his main thing. And of course he plays in a couple of groups.”

“You have those kind of children? I thought you’d have a cure, or…”

“Well, we’re strong on genetic screening. Have been for centuries. And that’s made a difference. But when the problem’s in the development… You can’t haul every kid in for tests every week or whatever. So there’s still cases where no one realises until it’s too late.”

“And then you do everything you can to make it up to the kid and make things easy for the parents.” It would be part of this consensus of theirs—he’d got the idea by now.

“Yeah.”

A few minutes later, when they had just passed the hospital, Bodie said, “What about a boyfriend? Is there someone in the city? I mean, he did those sketches himself, didn’t he?”

“Mmm, but I think they’re quite old. A few years. There’s been no one new on the wall since I’ve known him. Gavio had sex with him once or twice when they were much younger—still at school—and he’s always reckoned he’s not that interested. Likes flirting, likes getting excited about someone new—but when it comes down to it, he’d rather draw them than fuck them. He won’t be getting married.” Very decisive, there.

“So he and Gavio were at school together. Here?” He jerked his thumb back in the direction of the old sea-front.

“Yeah, but Gavio left to live in the city—where we met—and he never did.”

“And Gavio got you to buy the flat here?”

“Something like that. Details are a bit vague.” A grin, just visible under a streetlight.

“Where _is_ he, Ray? Don’t you wonder? All those years together. Christ! _I_ couldn’t give you up.”

Now an indulgent look. “Well, no. Stating the obvious. But he’s not a masochist. Why would he want to see me again when he knows that I can only get an erection when _you’re_ with me? And I don’t think you’d go for that, would you? You don’t feel _that_ sorry for him.”

“Now you ask…” Ray and his exaggerations. Though since they’d met, had Bodie himself had so much as a wet dream that didn’t feature Ray? Even when they were betrothed and he hadn’t seen his face. Not exaggerating, then, but just reading his mind? At times, the thought of how lucky he’d been—they’d been—was so huge it seemed to swamp his mind, pushing out every other idea. How on Earth (!) had Ray _known_? Astonishing. He reached out, and they walked on hand in hand.


	11. Chapter 10

## Chapter 10

They spent the next week in and around the town, working hard on the language lessons. To Bodie’s surprise, it was the prince who had most trouble with slipping back into English. But then he thought about his own encounters with his East European counterparts. (There’d been Africa, too, but then he’d mostly been glad of the excuse not to talk.) Yes, a week of simplifying things to primary-school level, and it took another week to get your brain back to normal. No wonder if Ray got frustrated and stepped outside the rules once in a while. Besides, he didn’t have the same incentive for this work as Bodie did.

For the weekend, they went to a historic town about three hours drive inland. There’d been a battle, or it had held out against plague, or some inventor had tested a new engine down the high-street. Or all of these things. They were happy to leave it vague and just enjoy the here-and-now.

On An Udom Kol (the second Saturday), they hired a rowing boat, stocked up with food and alcohol, and made their way very gradually downriver to another historic town (just very old, and some famous writer had been born there). On the way they passed through a sleepy little village, which, six years ago, had seen a spectacular murder-and-suicide, and that the prince knew all about. A marriage gone wrong, and very quickly too. No children, thank God.

“I’d like to know what happened in their betrothal.” After a long recital of facts, the prince was finally getting around to speculation, and very grim he was about it. “Of course, everyone said it had been very strict. Perfectly normal. But you have to wonder, don’t you?”

Maybe he’d snuck into her cabin on the first night? Bodie never seriously considered making that suggestion: he _sometimes_ acknowledged standards of good taste, and if Ray had forgotten, why remind him? So he just nodded, and carried on rowing.

“And…” Frowning hard, now. “We all felt that he -” The murder victim. “- was meeting women. Or a woman. Somewhere. Somehow. But no one was speaking, and nothing showed up in any of the tests. But of course it can always find a way of slipping through, can’t it? And with the way she’d destroyed the organs… You had to wonder.”

A clue there, on their attitude to adultery. Do-it-yourself divorce, you could call it. Lucky indeed that Ray had turned out to be all he could ever want. How would Ray react in that situation? With a sedative and a axe? Very likely, but forget the sedative. Secure in the knowledge of his own absolute fidelity, Bodie felt a distinct thrill at the thought of such passion and possessiveness—and of the violence, of course.

And there was another problem it might be wise to plan for: over two months since he’d had a proper fight. Not that he was feeling the itch yet, but you had to expect it sometime, didn’t you?

He started to row harder, needing to feel his body working, while at the same time wanting something even better for it—something not compatible with their faster pace. “You see anywhere you want to stop, just say the word. Somewhere private. Like last weekend by the rock.”

“You want somewhere for sex?”

“Yeah.”

Some moments of scrutiny. “Rough sex? You’ve got that look about you. You’ve been thinking about me with another man.”

“Rough as you can take.”

Now the prince was surveying the banks, urgent and restless. “Don’t know this area at all.” A deep inhalation, followed by a liquid groan. “Oh, it’s boiling off you. It’s like being next to a furnace.” He wasn’t looking at Bodie. “What about over there?” The other side of the river. “Those trees in that hollow.” It looked suitable enough: no sight of houses, paths, or people. “Don’t know how private, but you could gag me.”

Bodie gave a strangled groan, and rowed for the spot at a punishing speed. They’d both need gagging at this rate—even if the nearest listeners were back in the murder village.

The prince left Bodie to secure the boat on his own, making straight for the trees as soon as they reached the bank. Bodie had lost sight of him, which meant a jolt of discovery when he found out that the prince had stripped. Was the gaze wary, or was it challenging? Hard to tell in the dappled, shifting light.

Once he’d reached the shelter of the trees, still some feet away from the prince, he stopped and stripped off his own clothes. Tactics said that they would be an encumbrance as he went into this encounter—he needed his cock ready, nothing between him and immediate use of any advantage that appeared. Then a step forward with a sachet of lubricant held out. “Make yourself ready for me.” His hardest voice.

It was a struggle to hide his amazement when the prince took the sachet, and he had moments of concern as he watched it being torn open, and the gel being squeezed expertly onto the ends of those supple fingers. But then the fingers wrapped around the prince’s straining erection, and Bodie gave a growl of pure triumph as he dove forward, reaching to pull the hand away.

They fought hard and noisily for possession of the lubricant, which got dispersed ever more widely, thinly, and irrelevantly: hands, cocks, stomachs, thighs, and trunks of trees. The bark was rough and covered with large lumps—Bodie knew he would remember every detail of the four times Ray was able to pin him up against a tree, the scratches on his back as exciting in their way as the angry contacts between their cocks.

Throughout, the prince was quick, determined, and imaginative. He was the one who brought the conflict to ground level, forcing Bodie off-balance, getting him face-down, and keeping him there for long enough to push a finger all the way into him. Unforgivable! Galvanised, Bodie was ruthless in throwing him off, and a few grunts and cries later, had him held down on his back, immobilised by greater strength and weight. Not that Bodie himself could do much in this situation, arms and legs fully occupied in restraining a man who had definitely not given up.

What did he want to do, though? Earlier plans were slipping away—then gone—with every movement, however slight, of their tight-pressed groins. Of their own accord, it seemed, his hips started a thrusting motion, and the prince matched it, though cursing him at the same time, demanding that he stop, and reinforcing those demands with his teeth.

Bodie came quickly, but the prince held on, even with Bodie’s full weight pressing down hot upon him.

“Get off me.” Mercilessly soon afterward. Cold. Or was it controlled fury? Without looking at him, Bodie hauled himself to his knees, utterly intimidated by that voice and not at all sure how much of this was an act. “So _now_ you listen to me. Just as well one of us keeps some sense. Lie down.” The grass was flattened and damp from the prince’s body, but still prickled all along Bodie’s length.

The finger inside him again, although this time he spread his legs for it. “You’ll take it now rather than then? And you call me perverse.” The penetration felt more like an intrusion than usual: the nerves between his legs were still in that irritable stage, and there was no erection screaming for attention from behind. But good to be filled and covered—and even if there had been no pleasure for him in the sensations, he would not have thought for an instant of objecting, since the idea itself was so exciting and right.

* * * * *

“D’you fancy a beer?”

“I wouldn’t say no.” Where had all these stones and twigs come from, on the ground? Most likely the ground was alive, and they’d woken it up with their thudding and shouting. “Are you - You’re never going like that.” The prince had walked straight past the pile of clothes.

“Course.” And he was off down the slope to their boat. God, he was gorgeous. You could tell from a mile off that he’d just had sex—rough sex that had marked him front and back. And he wouldn’t care who saw him, although in this case there was no one to see but his husband. He came back with the cool-box, and with the rug slung over his shoulder. Bodie got to his feet, and they chose a spot for the rug closer to the river, just inside the shelter of the trees.

“Well…” The prince sighed, and leaned back against his tree, cushioned by a corner of the rug. “Not quite what I’d expected.”

“No. Sorry.”

“Uh.” A shake of the head. “You can’t’ve thought that’s what I meant. Hadn’t realised just how strong you are.” Another, longer shake of the head, with a reminiscent smile. “Had to think about paperwork. And going swimming in the middle of winter. Or I’d have come when you did.”

“And all the time you were yelling and carrying on.” Hushed amazement at this mental discipline.

“I impress myself, sometimes.” They laughed, then Bodie shifted over, leaned against an upraised knee. Almost immediately: “Hey, is my back in that state? Let’s have a look.” He sat up and eased Bodie around by the shoulders, then started to run his hands over the skin, very gentle and thorough.

“Any blood?” Cool and matter-of-fact, while inside he was melting—Ray’s touch so warm, so loving.

“Not quite. Though I can see beads at the bottom of the worst scratches. We’ll get something for them when we get into Wharton.”

“Then it’s no worse than yours, by the sound of it. Gave as good as I got.”

“I’ll say.” The hands continued their work. “You do this much before?”

“Not really. Done it too often for real. Go more for the battle of wills. What about you?”

“Much the same. Thought about it, but… there was never anyone I liked enough. Who I knew would still be speaking to me the next morning.”

“Ah, Ray. I like you enough for anything.” Deep and rough.

“I know. Wish I had ‘anything’ lined up. But you keep on surprising me.” Now he twisted easily into a kneeling position behind Bodie, and gathered him close with arms around his waist. Bodie closed his eyes. “Let’s not row back today. Let’s find a hotel in Wharton. Leave it until tomorrow.”

“Suits me. Besides, treatment you gave my arse, you’d written me out of the rest of the rowing.”

“Now he complains.” A chuckle in Bodie’s ear, and lips on his neck. Bodie loved losing to this man—if losing was the name for it.

* * * * *

When they got back home on An Uraba, the prince found a message waiting for him, announced by a blinking light under the TV screen. It was from Malun, reminding them that they were required at the palace on the next An Uraba.

“I _had_ forgotten. It’s the birth of our second set of twins. Nandan and Sadani. Who started fighting in the womb, and had to be raised separately.”

“Yeah? So what happened to them?”

“Well, each refused to have anything in common with the other—though they chose exactly the same ways of being different, and at the same time. For instance, they refused to speak the same language, so they each invented their own. And they refused to be on the same body of land. At the start there was just one large island near the equator, and they’d been brought up at opposite ends of this. But that wasn’t enough for them. They dug trenches to make two new islands, and Nandan’s island drifted to the north, and Sadani’s drifted to the south. And their kids were just as bad, so the islands got hacked up smaller and smaller until…” He gestured out of the window.

“So they’re your great, great, great… whatever… grandparents? I can see the family resemblance.”

“Yes, it _was_ what everyone called us.”

“Why did we let them get away with it? Udom Kol and Embrun, I mean?”

“I think they were frightened that the twins would kill each other. And it didn’t cause much trouble until they made their islands. Because when it happened Udom Kol was on one, and Embrun was on another. And no one knew how to swim or sail then. So there was a very bad period—the story’s vague about the length of time—until the children on each island worked out how to help their parents through the separation. Actually, it was Nandan and Sadani who worked it out, and at exactly the same time—they _were_ genuinely upset about what they’d done. And after that they all worked together on inventing boats.”

“You’ve got an explanation for everything, haven’t you? I mean, your people.”

“Well, haven’t you?”

“Sure. ‘God did it.’ And _he_ set everything up for us right from the start. There’s no stories about Adam and Eve learning how to sail. Or build huts or ride a camel, more like. Which is strange, now I think about it.” It was in fact the first time this had occurred to him. “So d’we just go for the day, or take the same flights as last time?”

“Oh, we’ll use the transporter. It’s paid for, since it’s public business.”

“D’you want to stay longer? Than the few minutes.”

“Not really. I never did before.”

“The others’ll be there?”

“Just Malun, I should think. The ritual part’s only the two of us. It’s very short. Not much to memorise. I wish I could show you tapes of it, but we never record the ceremonies.”

“So we have to speak at this one?” Stirrings of panic.

“A few lines. You’ll be fine. There was only six people at the last one I did, so I wouldn’t worry.”

“How did Malun seem in the message? Has he recovered from last weekend?”

“I’m sure he hasn’t. But he won’t let it affect anyone else. He’s very good like that, I have to admit. Very professional. The message was fine.”

* * * * *

Bodie rehearsed very hard during the week, to the point where the constant repetitions were clearly getting on the prince’s nerves. Bodie would have been happy to do the work on his own, taping himself and checking against a tape of the prince, but the prince insisted that no recording of any part of the ritual was allowed at any time. So fraying the prince’s nerves it had to be.

The ceremony was at midday, Monor time, and they were up at six a.m. to be ready for the call from Malun around seven a.m. to warn them to pin their tags on and prepare for transportation. They materialised in a small transporter room with a single platform, and Malun was there to greet them, smiling his usual smile.

“Oh, perfect! You look perfect. New clothes, I’d guess?”

He was right. It had been the prince’s suggestion: subdued and anonymous, and obviously variations on a theme. Their own uniform, almost. The prince was in stone-brown with a shirt of moss-green, and Bodie in stone-grey with a shirt in a dark, reserved blue. When they’d stood together before the mirror in the hallway, Bodie had wondered for the first time if marrying a prince meant that he was now a prince too.

“D’you have any coffee? This is well before our breakfast-time, you know.” The prince, smiling but more-than-usually arrogant. Of course, the blame from that weekend could go both ways—was he angry with Malun for doubting that his marriage with  a human could work?

“Ray, I never forget a person’s addictions.” They were in a narrow, dimly lit corridor with rough stone floors. Not what you’d expect in a palace, even of its underground chambers.

The next room was better: proper lighting, and furniture and rugs of a quality that Bodie recognised from the family’s house. There was a pot of coffee waiting on the nearest table, and they sat and talked about the weather, and Ferros’s twins, and Lamon—anything except the business and the ritual.

With ten minutes until midday, Malun said, “Time to get the masks,” and walked over to the left end of the strange item of furniture that filled the entire back wall. It looked like a series of open dumb-waiters, which was exactly what it was. Malun pressed a switch, a gentle humming sound started, and the section of the display-board that held Udom Kol and Embrun slowly descended into view. The prince had explained the system to Bodie, but Bodie was still fascinated.

They went over to get the masks themselves, taking the force-field strips that Malun held out. Hard to believe now that they’d worn masks every day for more than two weeks—in his memories of those times, Bodie now saw Ray’s face more often than the mask, his imagination supplying the expression that would have gone with the words and the tone. Embrun’s mask was thicker and heavier than the plain one he’d had onboard ship, and it had lenses instead of eyeholes, but once it was in place it could have been either—same field of view, same response-time to movements.

“Everything alright?”

“Yes.” Simultaneous.

“Then let’s go next door.” Along the corridor and into the room which backed onto the dumb-waiters. Here, along the same wall, was another set of dumb-waiters, larger and fewer. The prince referred to them as “lifts” but to Bodie that meant multiple doors and at least four storeys, so he was going to stick with “dumb-waiters”.

Now the prince switched to his own language—as he and Bodie had agreed—and he and Malun idly discussed the palace’s staff while Bodie pumped adrenaline and tested himself on the script. Too soon it was time for each to step onto his platform and press the button for the ground floor. Could the people upstairs hear the sound of the motor? Maybe not, if the soundproofing was up to their usual standard.

~You will be fine, my husband. It will be easy.~ A whisper and a touch to the back of Bodie’s hand, and the prince had turned and was making his way along the narrow path to the door at the far left of the display-case. Bodie swallowed hard, then set off in the opposite direction, all the while working his tongue vigorously around his mouth in an effort to get his saliva to co-operate. Oh, God, oh, God.

When they’d been here before, the doors had looked like a continuation of the backing-panel behind the display-case. Not that Bodie had paid much attention to anything else once he had seen his mask. He stood in the small, pitch-dark space behind his door, and waited.

The five-second buzzer. Thanks a lot, Malun.

The door swung away smoothly to the right, and he stood blinking in the light, frozen to the spot for seconds. He’d never realised their soundproofing was _that_ good. Six? More like six hundred—and that was only what he could see through the lenses. Oh, God.

Then he remembered that Ray would already have started forward, and the idea of Ray disappointed or embarrassed put this panic in proportion, and he emerged from the enclosure into the crowd.

It was a well-trained crowd and seemed to know the ritual as well as he did. Indeed, if he’d forgotten how it started, the pathway they’d left clear would have prodded his memory. Out of the central chamber and to the left. Ray was behind him now, but he mustn’t slow to let him catch up. The crowd was solid along the corridors. _Should’ve sold tickets. We’d have a flyer for each day of the week._ His throat shivered with a giggle, but he triumphed before there was any real danger.

The picture—or sculpture, maybe—was along the centre of a long, thin room. A hip-high stone slab a foot and a half wide and about twenty long, with a huge, upright stone at each end. The picture had been created with lines carved deeply into the slab and with metal then set along the lines—poured in molten, the prince had said. Bodie went to the far side of the slab and stood in position by the drawing of the second pair of babies. They were easy to recognise since they were the only pair facing away from each other, and the only pair whose metal was polished and gleaming.

The crowd was respectfully quiet, if not completely silent, and Bodie could hear the approaching footsteps. The stone-brown that they’d chosen together came within his limited field of view, and then Ray was in position on the opposite side of the slab.

In unison, attuned and well-practised, they lifted their hands to the slab and cupped them around the nearest lines of the drawing, not quite touching the metal: the head of one by the right hand, the tiny, prawn-like feet of the other by the left. The stone was warm from the morning’s sunlight.

Udom Kol spoke first (thank God!), addressing the babies. ~Nandan, Sadani, your father welcomes you to Pen Embrun, that is your mother’s world. Sadani, Nandan, this family, that shall be every family, rejoices at your choice.~

Now Bodie, addressing the space just above the prince’s head. ~Brother Time, greet the children who join us from the place of waiting.~ There was a definite stir at the sound of his voice, the swoop of questions in motion. He had to swallow twice before he could continue, and that was not how it was supposed to be. ~Sister Death, make clear the path that will return us to your home.~ Questions now on their way out of the room—he had to close his eyes hard to prevent himself turning his head to follow the route of the murmurs.

~My first and my last -~ They were supposed to be speaking to each other now. Seconds out of sync, Bodie lowered his head to look into Udom Kol’s eyes. ~- it begins again.~

~My first and my last, it begins.~

Now they leaned forward so that the cheeks of their masks were touching. In unison: ~It is forever well.~ They straightened and separated, and the ritual was over.

However, they still had to get back to the enclosure. The prince left first, having further to go, and this time Bodie did turn his head to watch. Had Ray ever looked more beautiful? _My first and my last._ Impossible to do anything but fall in love with such a man—the mask, the rank, the species an irrelevance. Indeed, it had been there from the first, with the assistant from the Foreign Office—he could see that now, see what he’d really been searching for in those days of scanning the conference hall.

Time to start walking. The crowd was excited, and especially so where he passed close. Whispered questions and comments, suppressed exclamations—fortunately none of them sufficiently distinct for his current level of comprehension. He kept his gaze straight ahead, down the middle of the path, not letting himself focus on the faces.

Finally! He put his palm against the large switch just inside the door, and it swung shut behind him. Silence. Darkness. Bliss. Onto the platform of the dumb-waiter, press the button for the basement. He closed his eyes as he descended.

The prince was already there, mask still on. Malun looked pleased and encouraging. Had he been watching? Was there a system of peep-holes? Or was this an expression he’d decided on months ago?

Without speaking, they went back to the first room, Malun leading the way. The table now held a fine decanter—kumusi, by the colour—and three glasses. Bodie and the prince took their earlier places on the sofa and removed their masks while Malun dealt with the decanter. The prince was looking stunned: staring down at the mask on his knees as if wondering how it had got there. Bodie looked away almost immediately and busied himself with peeling off the strips behind his ears.

“Here, I’ll take it.” Malun was holding out a hand for his mask and pushing a glass towards him with the other hand. Bodie nodded his thanks. “Ray?” Blinking, then the head lifted, and a few seconds later Malun got the mask, which he placed on the table next to the other.

“When do they have to go back in the case?”

“A few more minutes. There’s no strict timetable.”

Bodie grunted, and then there was silence while all three concentrated on drinking.

“They were tipped off.” The prince, sounding grim. “Had to be. I’ve never seen anything like it. I thought… twenty at most. For Bodie to cope with that his first time - He deserves a medal. Did you know?”

Malun shrugged and shook his head. “I didn’t come in through the building. So how many were there?”

“Thousands. Weren’t there? Packed full.”

Bodie nodded.

Obvious surprise, then a frown, then doubt. “Well… you are the first new Udom Kol and Embrun in over thirty years.”

“How many at my parents’ first appearance?” Not quite a challenge.

“Hmm. Yes. When you put it like that. Tipped off how?”

“I don’t know. To expect something unusual.”

“And…?”

“Probably no more than that. I didn’t get the impression they were expecting Bodie’s accent.” A snort. “Surprised the roof didn’t lift off from the reaction. Felt like a hurricane.” Now deep and rich. “Bodie was amazing. He just carried on. I was so proud.” He hadn’t yet really looked at Bodie. “His tone was perfect. He _was_ Embrun. If ever these people really existed, it’s now.”

“Wonderful. Thank you, Bodie.” Bodie shrugged and gave an awkward smile.

A few moments of silence, then Malun checked the time, tossed back his drink, and took the masks over to the dumb-waiter. Bodie was curious to see if he’d clean them or anything, and how they were attached to the panel. He was making to stand up and follow when a hand on his shoulder yanked him back and around, and he was pulled into a ravenous kiss. It didn’t seem sexual, or not primarily: more a claiming, and an outlet for a complex of strong emotions. He was more than happy to be claimed in such a way.

* * * * *

When they finally raised their heads—properly, that is, to do more than gasp against one another’s lips—they found that they were alone in the room. Good old Malun.

“How long d’you think he’ll give us before he comes back? What’s his timetable for us having sex?”

The prince’s laughter caressed his cheek. “Be interesting to wait and find out. Maybe he’s put his researchers on it. D’you want to, though?” They were only slightly aroused: it hadn’t been that kind of tension.

“Not here. Let’s go and find him and get him to send us home.”

They found him in the corridor almost immediately, and were home within minutes. It was still early, especially given that it was the last day of the weekend, but they were thoroughly awake and after they’d changed their clothes they decided to go for a long walk among the dunes.

“So what’s the verdict?” They were lying in the hollow they’d found on their first day.

“Bloody ‘orrible. But it’ll get easier, I suppose.”

“Thought you’d be furious with me. Not warning you. Yet again.”

“Couldn’t afford to feel anything much at the time. And then I realised you were more surprised than I was. Who d’you reckon did it? The tip-off.”

“The arsehole. Ward. You can bet he was there watching.”

“But why?”

A shrug. “Anything to make it worse for us. Trip us into making a mistake. But you certainly showed him. You showed all of us.”

“How long before it’s all around the planet?”

“I don’t know. Our news coverage isn’t allowed to comment on something like this. But people will already have rushed home to tell their friends and… Could be hours. Could be weeks.”


	12. Chapter 11

## Chapter 11

They’d only left themselves a week to find Bodie a job before the prince went back to work and Bodie became officially a kept man, or house-husband, or whatever you wanted to call it. How had it come around so quickly? It might have something to do with the fact that Bodie still thought of “a month” as four weeks minimum, instead of exactly three weeks. It wasn’t going to be enough time, was it?

At the back of his mind he’d always known it was going to be bad: humiliating and depressing. Even back home, the next job after CI5 would have been a serious come-down—it was something they all knew, and never discussed. But here the few skills he had that were marketable (or even describable) were based on an alien and primitive technology. So what that he was an excellent dirty mechanic or that he knew everything worth knowing about rifles?

Unskilled Labour: dockwork, deckhand, demolition, construction, farmwork, assembly line, hotel doorman, waiting tables, shop assistant. When they turned the screen on in the morning and went through the listings on the Employment board for the city, there was nothing that wasn’t familiar to him. Ah, the Natural Law of Gruntwork.

Not that he minded taking any of this on, though he knew he wouldn’t last five minutes in a restaurant or a shop so no point bothering with those. This was what everyone had been expecting for him throughout his childhood—on his angelic days, when they weren’t predicting prison—and in his time he’d toted bales with the best of them. If they were a decent crowd and the foreman left you alone, it could even be a good way to spend a summer. Less fun in winter though, or when you’d stuck around for long enough to realise you were brighter than the foreman, and probably brighter than most of the suit-and-ties huddled in their Portacabins.

Ray kept insisting that Bodie put in for supervisory positions on the strength of his years as a sergeant in the Paras and SAS. “I know there’ll be specialised vocabulary, but we can deal with that in a couple of days. And you already swear beautifully. Why sell yourself short?” Was it really feasible? Or did Ray just not want his husband to be at the absolute bottom of the social scale? The rejections were coming back within the day.

What were they making of his details? Were they just snorting and hitting the Reject button? Or were they reading them out to the whole office for a giggle and gossip—and _then_ hitting the Reject button? OK, the sections for Education and Previous Employment were blank, but with Malun as a reference and with such an exotic explanation under Other Information, you’d think they’d at least haul him in out of curiosity. Or would that be considered a religious offence or something?

He couldn’t fool himself that they wouldn’t realise instantly who he was: Plassen had dropped in that very An Uraba evening to say he’d heard the news from several sources, and it was being discussed in the bar, and how were they planning to play it? So far they hadn’t had to play it any way at all since there had been no direct reactions, and after a few days they’d got almost used to the surprised, assessing glances which usually ended in a kind of thoughtful admiration.

* * * * *

It was An Uraba again, with the prince due to go back to work the next day, and they were having their lunch out on the balcony.

“A week’s not nearly long enough. I got recruited straight from college, or I’d have realised. We should have started as soon as we got back.”

“And ruin _all_ of our holiday? I’ve been unemployed before. A few more weeks isn’t going to kill me.”

“What’ll you do?”

Bodie shrugged. “Go to the gym. Walk. Watch kids’ TV to work on my Hass Embrun. Maybe drop in to Catur for a chat with Buka and a drink. Send in another lot of applications. And wait for you to come home.” He did his best to sound cheerful about this list, which certainly wasn’t so bad in itself—the problem was in what it represented. Still, it wouldn’t be for long.

Some time later, when they’d just started on the second bottle of wine, the prince brought the conversation back to Bodie’s employment prospects. “What d’you think about going to college? Or starting an apprenticeship? You’d have your pick then. Work you could really enjoy, too.”

“I want to start earning.”

“I know you do, but it would pay off. Malun’d lend us the money for the fees. Try to give you an allowance too, I expect.”

Bodie tilted his head and pushed his lips out as if giving the idea serious consideration. Go in debt to the family? Be a dependent for the next two or three years? No bloody way. “Well, he can certainly afford it. Let’s give it another couple of weeks, and if nothing’s come up…” Right. With Ray out of the way, he could start applying for more of those jobs where he might realistically stand a chance. And maybe change the picture on his details to one that showed his muscles.

* * * * *

The next morning, Bodie went to the ferry terminal with the prince, and stayed with him as the car was inching forward in the queue. The prince was restless and unhappy. “I hate going off and leaving you like this.”

“Ray, I’ll be fine. And I promise I won’t play with matches or try to replumb the bath or anything.” That got a smile, if a reluctant one. “You love your work. Another week of holiday and you’d be bored stupid.”

“Well… Will you be home at lunchtime, if I call?”

“If you’re going to call, sure. Give me something to plan around.”

They were nearly at the barrier. Bodie leaned across and their lips touched briefly. “See you around seven, then?” He stood by the barrier and watched until the car was out of sight, then walked along the beach to the bench nearest their flat and watched from there until the ferry too was gone.

On his own. Completely on his own for the first time since their wedding. Strange. Not a lot to be said for it so far. And Ray going back to work after nearly six months away: would they be “Oh, yeah, you used to work here, didn’t you?”?; or would they be at him with questions for hours? Since it was very unlikely that Bodie would ever meet his colleagues—Gavio never had—he’d decided to stick to the husband-from-out-of-town story. Bodie was now from the northern island of Wilton, and had been working in the holds as part of the same placement scheme that Ray had used for his alibi. It might have happened like that. He could imagine the cook and the warehouseman catching sight of each other in the gym or the lounge, or maybe meeting at some briefing before the ship even left. He could imagine that very easily.

Back in the flat, he spent about half an hour posing and reposing in front of the camera that was built into the screen, and eventually got the picture he’d had in mind: reliable, honest, not a trouble-maker, intelligent enough, and built like a blacksmith. Now where to hide the graphics file so that Ray wouldn’t find it? He went through the listings thoroughly, but there wasn’t as much labouring work as he remembered from the previous week. Maybe they were tailing down into autumn, or maybe he’d been remembering them by Ray’s shaking head and frowns, which would have left an exaggerated impression. Still, he fired off sixteen applications, six more than his previous record.

An hour or so in the gym, then a browse in the library for some kids’ books and maybe try a novel if he could find one trashy enough. Though he’d probably be hopelessly lost by page three. Was the hero’s profession “lawyer” or “undertaker”? Were the villains planning to “blow up the bridge” or “sneak into the cinema without paying”? Forget marketing the language tapes: Ray’s first priority should be a Hass Embrun-English dictionary.

Another thought: how much did their language change from year to year? Almost all of the printed books were hundreds of years old; you’d expect them to throw the things away when they switched to publishing everything as computer files, but these people hated to part with anything. If he taught himself from the printed books, would he end up sounding all “Gadzooks!” and “Prithee, Milord”? Ask Ray. The answer would always be: “Ask Ray.”

Ray had introduced him to the librarian in their second week. “Librarian” wasn’t really right, anyway, since most of his customers weren’t there for the books that were stocked in the library itself—“Information Advisor” would probably be closer. ~Ray isn’t with you?~

~He’s gone back to work.~

A nod, and then he pushed the books over to Bodie, tapping the cover of the kids’ book on top of the pile. ~My daughters enjoyed those.~ A rueful smile. So he was a father—Bodie had a brief, erotic image of small breasts under that plain, white shirt. ~You should /?/. It’s two years /?/ and I could still /?/ every word. I wanted to /?/ that /?/ rabbit.~ Not a rabbit, of course, but that was close enough. Bodie laughed. ~You’ve been /?/ by some friends with children, have you?~

Good God. The man had heard his accent, knew he was a foreigner—but just couldn’t get his head around the idea that for Bodie the language was a real, continuing effort. Didn’t they have any idea about the other species out there? Bloody smug, complacent consensus society. A smile and a nod, and he took the books and went up to the flat.

There were some rejections waiting for him from the previous week, but nothing from the morning. He made himself a sandwich and was eating it out on the balcony, the awning drawn over for shade, when Ray called.

“Oh, Bodie, I’ve missed you.” He was in his car, with a black and grey building filling the background. It wasn’t a good transmission, but at the sight and sound of him Bodie’s heart leapt, even though the position of the cameras meant their eyes couldn’t quite meet.

“Me too.” Until now, he hadn’t, not actively. He’d been busy, and it seemed he hadn’t the imagination or memory to conjure Ray’s presence in all its electrifying glory. After some moments of rapt contemplation ending in a ragged sigh: “You out and about already? Thought you’d be stuck at your desk for days, just going through your mail.”

“I should be. Just come out and driven round the corner for ten minutes so we can talk properly. In private.”

“How’s it been? Did they remember who you were?”

The prince laughed. “Apart from missing you, it’s been… well, good. No work done, of course. We’re all off to lunch soon, on the boss.”

“Told you. You still due back for seven, or they hauling you out for a drink?”

“No. No. Seven at the latest. How’s it been with you?”

Bodie gave a censored report on his morning, and they talked idly about the books he’d got from the library, and the need for a dictionary, and what they fancied for dinner, and whether there was enough yako or whether Bodie should get some from the supermarket. All an excuse to carry on staring at one another.

Finally, with a sign and a frown, the prince said, “I have to go. They’ll be waiting for me already. I have to.”

“It’s a free lunch. Of course you have to. I’ll come and meet you at the jetty.”

“No, but I might get on the half five…”

“If you do, then you can surprise me. Otherwise, I’ll be waiting.”

Several rounds of farewells, and then the screen went blank. Bodie slumped, sighing, and closed his eyes as his head fell back. What _would_ be so bad about taking any money the family offered and living in idle luxury for the rest of their lives? That way he’d have been able to make proper use out of this erection instead of wasting it on himself.

Once he had his cock in his hand, he found himself surprised by the morning’s image of the librarian. Not that he fancied the bloke, not at all. But talking about his daughters like that… You could say that he’d actually been telling Bodie that he had once had breasts, that he’d used them as a woman would. Bodie hadn’t yet got a proper look at these breasts—it just hadn’t worked out like that at the house—so he’d done a lot of imagining. Imagine cupping them through the white shirt. Imagine undoing the buttons. Squeezing the small mounds with his fingertips. Stroking the working nipples. (The feeding was supposed to toughen them, wasn’t it?) Bending his head to see if this time he could make suction…

That was as far as he got.

* * * * *

The prince didn’t get the half five—or the 5:36 as it appeared on the time-tables. A 72-minute hour. What could you do with these people? Bodie hadn’t really been expecting him anyway. He’d probably had a fit of conscience after lunch and settled down for a proper session with his mail.

The difference was only half an hour, anyway. Bodie was watching for the 6:00 from the balcony, and he set off as soon as it came in view around the cliffs. Was this like something from a women’s magazine? How to Make Hubby Feel Special After a Gruelling Day of Work You Couldn’t Possibly Understand. Well, he wouldn’t be doing this every day, obviously—and he was sure Ray would be the same if their positions were reversed.

The ferry was in. Foot passengers getting off. And now the cars. No, Bodie, you can not jump up and down, waving. The traffic was much quicker than in the morning, and they couldn’t even stop long enough for a kiss, just had to sit there, sneaking glances and grinning. And then there was an old couple in the lift, so they had to postpone the kiss even longer.

“Sex?” A breathless question from the prince. They were still in the hallway. “Now, I mean. You’re not that hungry, are you?”

“Starving. But I think this is going to be quick. Don’t you?”

“Uh.” That sounded like a yes, especially since the prince was now dragging him towards the bedroom.

* * * * *

It was quick, but they squandered their savings afterwards in long minutes of talk and rediscovery.

“How was lunch?”

“It was good. Just the six of us. Nothing fancy.” A blush and a lopsided smile. “Uvira guessed why I was late.” Had Ray had a wank afterwards too? Bodie was about to ask when the prince continued. “They wanted to see a picture of you. I should have thought and taken in the one we did for your application. Tomorrow.”

“Did you stick to the story?”

“Yeah.” A snort. “Said we thought it had started before we’d even set off. And the ship made us work all through the betrothal, which would make it one of the strictest betrothals on record. They asked about Udom Kol and Embrun. I lied through my teeth.”

“What were they asking?”

“Oh. If I’d seen the pair around? How they’d met? How the rest of the family had reacted? What humans were like? If Earth was really an immortals’ paradise?” At Bodie’s swat: “No, I’m serious. We’ve made the stories seem real. I told you it would get to people. Did humans have similar stories to ours? What did the humans think about what had happened? Did the human like us? Would the human want them to spend any time back with his people? I said I’d no idea—I was either in the galley or squeezed in a bunk with you—but that didn’t stop them guessing for hours. Oh!” A wicked grin. “And there was another question: was there any chance that they’d have children?” Cackling laughter at Bodie’s reaction.

“You lying toad.”

“I like that! Apparently, everyone’s been wondering and it’s all your fault. You were too bloody convincing at the palace. Positively broody.”

“And I suppose you said you’d no idea.” He held a melodramatic hand to his forehead. “If they hear about this back home…”

“Well… I said I’d asked one of the anthropologists in the lunch queue early on, and she said it was the most stupid question she’d ever heard. Any idiot could see the species were practically identical.”

“Yes, what’s a nursing father here or there?” And the best cocks that flesh and blood could build. Left humans looking pretty sad.

“So the word should get out. In a year or two.” A smirk and a shaking head. “Terrible disappointment, there’ll be. Protests. Uprisings. Maybe even a coffee boycott.”

* * * * *

The next morning they kissed goodbye at the door, but Bodie still found he couldn’t settle to anything until he’d seen the ferry out of sight. Was Ray the same too? On the deck, looking back at their pyramid?

Twelve applications today, matched by twelve rejections from the day before. So four still to come in. Hmmm. Didn’t necessarily mean a thing.

The gym, then some reading, then some TV. He had periods of thinking in their language now: probably gibberish, mind you, but how could he tell? This had to be a good sign, but he didn’t always welcome it. The thoughts didn’t quite feel his own—more like phrases from a text-book, or Ray’s thoughts from the tapes—and there was a strange, strangled area where the two languages fought over him. To be expected, really, and it would get better.

He went up to the bar for lunch, then took his drink up to the roof garden and read some more. Ray hadn’t been sure when he’d be able to call, and would leave his numbers, anyway.

There were two messages waiting when he got back to the flat. Poor Ray, calling twice. But no, the second was from one of yesterday’s production-line jobs, and they wanted him to go in the next morning. “Yes!” It was some sort of metalwork, from what he’d pieced together in the absence of that dictionary.

Immediately, he called Ray and gave him the good news. The prince was at his desk. The picture was much better than yesterday and Bodie got a very clear impression of an overcrowded room full of storage cabinets, and notes and pictures on the walls, and people talking almost continuously, and interested glances at Ray Vasmar as he got his first call from his new husband. Maybe it was the lack of privacy that was responsible for the prince’s muted reaction.

~Oh, that’s good. It’s a start, isn’t it?~

~Yes. Do you know the company?~

~No. The address is in the /?/ area. Near the ferry terminal. We can come in together tomorrow morning.~ That would give Bodie over an hour to kill—give him a chance to start learning his way around the industrial district, maybe.

~Yes. I’ll reply now and tell them that I will be there.~

~Good.~ A genuine smile. His Ray. ~I’ll be on the six o’clock tonight.~

~I’ll come and meet you again.~ A single round of farewells this time. Sharing an office played hell with your romantic life.

* * * * *

Still, the prince wasn’t much more enthusiastic that evening. “You’ll just be minding a machine, you know. Maybe it wasn’t clear to you in the listing.” In other words, you should have checked with me first, poor, ignorant human.

“I know. But they’re not going to tie me down to a five year contract, are they? If something better comes up, I can leave. But I have to start somewhere, don’t I? Anyway, there’s no saying I’m going to get it.”

“Well… don’t feel you have to take it. We’re not about to starve.”

* * * * *

The next morning the prince dropped Bodie off at the nearest point on the route into work, leaving him with a kiss and a street atlas. Bodie first went and located the building: a well-maintained, three-storey office block in the front, with the hangar-like factory behind. Lots of greenery—even a little garden to the side, though that might only be for managers. Still, it looked promising.

He timed his explorations well, and was back to present himself to Reception just five minutes before the time they’d set. The foreman was also prompt—and friendly but curious.

~Mister… Bodie. Is that how you /?/ it?~ Bodie nodded. ~We like people to see the work. And Tibo will take a few minutes to /?/ the /?/ to you.~

~Teach me to use the machine. Is that right?~

~Yes.~ With a slight look of surprise: didn’t I just say that?

~I am still learning the language.~ Much-rehearsed, this. ~If you speak simply, and in the vocabulary of Ikara, I will understand.~

~Yes, of course. You said that in your application.~ Tapping the folder he held. ~I must explain to Tibo.~ He led the way into the factory, and they walked along the central aisle nearly to the back, in sight of the delivery-doors. The building was light and airy. Some parts were noisy and partitioned off, others were quiet and open. Maybe two hundred people in sight, all in overalls, and a mixture of men and women. The atmosphere seemed pleasant enough.

The machine was in one of the partitioned areas, and turned out to be a large hydraulic press. (Well, assume it was hydraulic.) They put on ear-defenders and entered the area to find the man in the process of removing the finished panel from the bed. He saw them when he turned to place the panel on a pallet, gave a slight nod, and joined them once he was free. Ear-defenders off, introductions and explanations were made. Another friendly one, with short hair in a brighter purple even than Plassen.

~Have you /?/ one of these before?~

~No.~

~It’s easy. I’ll take you through the /?/ first.~ He talked Bodie through the stages: taking a flat sheet from the pallet on the far side; fitting it on the guides in the press; lowering the safety-screen; pressing the button (ear-defenders on for this); moving the protective layer of bubble-plastic from the first pallet to the second; raising the safety-screen; releasing the formed plate; and putting it on the second pallet.

~What do you do when there are no more sheets?~ Sheets (of metal). He’d learnt a word.

~When there are only three, you press this button -~ Button. Another new word. ~\- and /?/ will /?/ the next /?/. And when this /?/ -~ The pile of formed plates. ~\- is up to here -~ A line drawn or taped to the partition. ~\- you press this button, and /?/ will come and /?/.~

Bodie nodded. ~Yes, it is easy.~

~Then put these on -~ A pair of tough, padded gloves. ~\- and you can do the next two.~ A gesture at the pile of flat sheets.

The sheets were heavier than they looked, but no problem for Bodie. He completed the two repetitions without incident, and they were nodding at him as he turned and took the ear-defenders off.

~That’s fine, Mister Bodie.~ The foreman handed him a sheet of paper. ~This shows you the /?/. We’d be starting you as /?/ two, and on the afternoon /?/.~ Shiftwork! How could he have forgotten about shiftwork? He scanned the paper for the word “afternoon” and discovered that his hours would be two until ten. So home by eleven, say, cutting a good four hours out of the time he could spend with Ray.

~Could I work the morning shift? Would that be possible?~ Trying to make it sound like just a vague enquiry.

~The woman who is leaving is on the afternoon shift. You would have to wait for a /?/ on the morning shift.~

~How long would that be?~

The men looked at one another and shrugged. ~You started on afternoons, didn’t you, Tibo?~

~A long time ago. Was it for two years? Something like that.~ Two years. They’d be miserable. But could he stick it just for a while? Just to get started? Ask Ray. Of course, he knew what the answer would be, but he couldn’t turn this down out of hand.

~Do you need an answer from me now? I would prefer to wait until tomorrow, please.~

~Of course. And I could not /?/ your answer now, even if you could give it. We must send you an /?/ first.~ Ah, the intricacies of their bureaucracy. Thank God for the System. Apart from the shift thing, he needed a chance to sit down and decypher the wages for a Grade Two.

~I understand. Thank you.~ A nod and a smile to Tibo and the foreman led him back to the Reception area and saw him out. It had all taken less than a quarter of an hour—quite a generous interview-time for a job like that, but maybe they just wanted to be sure he didn’t drool or talk to imaginary friends.

* * * * *

Well, he’d landed himself a job on an alien planet. (He had, hadn’t he?) That was something. Full marks there to Bodie the Survivor. If he’d been single he’d have taken it without a second thought: the money wasn’t great, of course, but it was a living wage; nice little company; and if Tibo could put up with that work for two years or more, William Bodie could certainly stick it for a good six months.

But there was Ray to consider. He sat at the cafe on the promenade for over an hour while he pretended to himself that he was weighing his options, though he’d known back at the factory that it was out of the question. Not for even a week. Ray would be furious with him if he took it, and disappointed and baffled and hurt. And he couldn’t bear that, for Ray or for himself.

Hold out for 9-to-5 or for morning shift, then. There would be something else. And after this success maybe he could push the threat of college off by another week.

Lunch here, or back home? Home would be cheaper, and it was probably more than time he started thinking like that. He paid for his second beer and started walking back to the bridge and the ferry terminal.

He took a different route this time, and it turned out that this one went past a building site. At the time, he gave the site only an idle glance, not even slowing his pace. It was several buildings later, when he was about to cross the next street, that his subconscious suddenly finished its assessment and told him that this was an opportunity. So he turned back and took a position at the fence, about ten feet from the nearest labourer.

~Friend! Over here.~ _Friend! Over here._ God help us. Ray’s fault for not including “Oi! Mate!” in his tapes.

Several men looked at him. The man he was addressing straightened, frowning, and the others soon carried on with their work.

~Can I ask you some questions about finding work? It won’t take more than a few minutes? Please.~

A shrug, and the man ambled over. ~So what d’you want to know?~

~I’ve just arrived in the city and I want to find this kind of work.~ He gestured at the site. ~I have applied for jobs where you work all of the time with the same company -~ He counted out the regular succession of days with chopping movements of his hand. ~- but I have not had success. So I am thinking that there might be a place where the companies go if they need more people just for a few days.~ Casual labour. A hiring-hall. Further serious omissions from Ray’s tapes.

~Oh, you mean one of the /?/.~ That saldus, it had sounded like.

~Is that the word? I am sorry. My language is not good. It is a genetic problem.~ Well, it was. The man’s face relaxed, several puzzles now solved. ~How do these hiring-halls work? What do I need to do?~

~Well, you go to them and give them your details. Each morning they will send you a list of /?/ that need /?/. You mark the /?/ that you want to do and send the list back. And about half an hour later they send you a message to tell you which /?/ you got. Sometimes you might not get anything. It’s /?/.~

~Is that how you find work?~

~Not now. But I have /?/.~

~How often did you get work? One day in two? One in three?~

~In the whole year, one day in two.~ His tone made it clear this was a rough estimate. ~Enough to live on. As long as I didn’t /?/.~ Whatever he’d said, it was obviously the height of wit, and Bodie willingly matched his laughter.

Reaching in his backpack for his pen and the sheet of paper from the factory, Bodie said, ~Where would I find these hiring-halls?~ Though “agency” might be closer if you didn’t have to turn up each day and wait to be picked.

~They’re listed in /?/.~ The Yellow Pages? ~But I can give you the names of the best ones. The ones that found the most work for me.~ He held out his hand for the paper and pen, and Bodie pushed them through a gap in the fence.

~Could you write down the word “agency” as well, please? My spelling is also not good.~

The man looked up from the squatting position he had adopted in order to rest the paper against his thigh. ~Could you understand everything I said?~ He was obviously curious about Bodie’s condition. They really never did get to meet any foreigners, did they?

~Not everything, but enough. I know what to do now.~

A minute of careful writing, and the man stood up and returned the paper and pen. ~/?/.~ Good luck, from the tone. ~Maybe I’ll see you here in a couple of days.~ He gestured back at the site, stepping away from the fence.

~Maybe. Thank you very much.~ A wave, and the man went back to his work—or, more likely, back to report to the others. Nice bloke. Just hope his writing was readable.

* * * * *

So what was the next step? He had to find their Yellow Pages and get the list of agencies. The Information Advisor would know. Go home then? He started back on the route to the bridge, then stopped a second time. There’d be a library here in the city. Hundreds, probably. In fact, hadn’t Ray pointed out the main library to him during the tour a few weeks ago? Big green building with spikes. And off in that direction, he was pretty sure. Sure enough to take the next right turn and head into the centre of the city, anyway.

It wasn’t that he got lost, exactly, but he came to a complex junction and sensed that the wrong guess would lead to a good half hour of frustration. Ask someone? He looked around, trying to find someone who didn’t seem to be running late for a very important meeting. Well, maybe her, but… Too late. Would there be a sign pointing to the library, maybe? He started a search for the characters that spelt Ninem—and it was the act of visualising the word that somehow made him remember his street atlas.

He retreated to a wall, out of the flow, and fished the book from his backpack. The prince had only marked the page that covered the ferry terminal and the industrial area, so he first had to find out where he was. Done. And then look for “Ninem”. Also done, and on the same page. Clever Bodie.

The spines weren’t as aggressive as he’d remembered, which suggested he’d got used to their style of architecture. Lots of printed books here, some looking quite new. So they did still have a use for ink on paper? He wandered the stacks for a while, hoping to spot the books himself by some kind of instinct, but eventually he gave up and joined the short queue to speak to the librarians.

~Hello. I am looking for a listing of the agencies in the city.~ Or was “agency” too general out of context? ~For getting construction work when the companies need more people. Can you help me, please?~

She seemed too busy even to notice his accent. ~Go to /?/ seven over there.~ There was a long row of screens along one wall. Number Seven was the first one from the left that was free. ~I will /?/ the list for you. Anything else?~

~No. Thank you very much.~ He smiled; she didn’t, having already bent to her keyboard.

Was it the right list? He checked it against the names that the labourer had given him, and soon gave a loud sigh in relief that he wouldn’t have to struggle for a better explanation with another librarian. There were more than twenty names in the full list—copy them all down, or concentrate on the four the man had given him? Oh, do them all, but only visit the four today.

He had had almost no practice in writing the language, had really only copied out the individual characters to help himself learn them. (36 common ones, and 32 that were much rarer.) It was a slow process, and he might well be mangling one character in five. Safest then, while he still had the list of the screen, to find the addresses of the favourite four in the atlas, and mark the roads with the name and the number of the building. Now, _this_ was why paper was useful—you could scribble on it as much as you liked.

* * * * *

By now he was getting hungry, and he had no idea how long his business with the agencies would take. He wasn’t in the mood for sitting down to something, so when he passed a stall selling something that looked and smelt like a Cornish pasty, he decided to risk a couple.

Well… Ray would probably have warned him off them. Not that they were disgusting, but much more bitter than he was expecting. He went back to the stall for a carton of the sweetest fruit juice they stocked, and a few minutes later was fully recovered and ready to face these agencies. Should he rehearse what he was going to say? No. It would just make him more nervous, less flexible. Play it by ear.

The first one, Salvad, had a small office on the first floor of a simple four-storey building. There was an L-shaped counter just inside the door—only enough space for two chairs in the waiting-area—and it was unmanned when he arrived, the two men and one woman all occupied on the other side of the room, laughing as they discussed something displayed on a screen. Fortunately, they noticed him immediately, so he didn’t have to do his “Friends!” routine. The younger man came over to the counter.

~How can I /?/, sir?~

~I am looking for work in construction. I was told to come here and you would put me on your lists. Is this the correct thing to do?~

~Yes. Do you have a /?/ with you?~

~I do not know what that is. This is the first time I have looked for this type of work. And you must understand that I am not good with language. It is a genetic problem.~ He was going to get so sick of saying that, he’d _want_ to hang a sign around his neck. Damn the arsehole for being right.

~Oh. It is just a list of information about you and the type of work you want to do. Did you understand that?~ Bodie nodded. ~I thought you might have one from another agency. But I can get the information from you now. If you have your identity card with you.~ Bodie got his wallet from his inside pocket and pulled the card out. ~Good. Come through here, please.~

Bodie passed through the gap at the side of the counter, and followed the man through the door immediately to the left. My God, they had their own gym! Was this their lunch-room or something? They didn’t _look_ like keep-fit fanatics.

~We need to know what you can do.~ The man had noticed his interest in the equipment. ~But first we must start your /?/.~ There was a desk set against the wall, with a computer on it and two chairs in front of it. The man gestured Bodie towards the chair on the left, then sat down and made a few keystrokes—starting a new form, presumably. ~Can I have your identity card, please?~ It went into a slot in the machine, there was another flurry of keystrokes, and Bodie saw his name, ID number, and picture appear on the screen. ~Mister Bodie. Good.~ A slight quirk of the eyebrows at the exotic name. ~Now we can /?/ the rest of the information. What is your communications code?~

Bodie gave it to him. So they weren’t interested in his address? Everything, but everything went down the ‘phone wires.

~Your bank details?~

Bodie pulled his payment card from the wallet and handed it over to be read by the machine. No cash-in-hand here, obviously.

The press of a key, and the screen changed. ~Now your qualifications. Do you have -~

~None. I have no qualifications.~

~Is that because of your problems with language?~

~Uh… Maybe. Also, I was born off-planet. My life has been very strange.~ The identity card had his date of birth—Malun had set it by working out his age in days and then counting backwards from the day of their arrival—but it didn’t have the place of birth, so he was safe in this new version of himself. ~It was difficult to get qualifications.~

~How long have you been on Pen Embrun?~

~A few weeks.~

The man was obviously impressed by Bodie’s unusual past. ~But have you done /?/ work before?~

~Yes. Many times.~

~Then I can /?/ add you to our /?/ at the full /?/. If you did have qualifications—/?/, for instance, or /?/—then we could /?/ you for /?/. But they are not /?/.~

~What is the next information you need?~

Another key-press, and the screen filled with lines of words, each line with a check-box to the left. ~The type of work you want to do. Is it only construction work that you want?~

~No. I will do any type of work. But I will not work in the evenings or at night.~

A nod. ~That information comes later in the /?/. I will read out the types of work, and you tell me yes or no.~

Some of the names Bodie didn’t recognise and the man’s explanations didn’t usually help, so he decided “no” was safest for all of those. Still, he gave a “yes” to demolition and dockwork and warehousing and production-line, as well as construction. Next came information about the days of the week he was prepared to work, the hours, the locations, and the time it would take him to reach each location from home. Bodie had been worried that his commute-time on the ferry would write him out of a lot of work, but the man said that an hour was typical. Their clients only specified a shorter response-time if it was essential, since the agency charged them for it—or that’s what Bodie thought he said.

~And when do you want us to start finding work for you?~

Tomorrow? Might be too soon for comfort—especially since Ray would take some persuading. ~Could you explain to me how it is done?~

It seemed the labourer on the building site had given a good explanation, although he hadn’t mentioned the timings: the agency’s main lists of possibilities went out at 6:36; Bodie’s response had to be back by 6:54; and the day’s assignment would reach him by 7:00. And then it would be a sprint for the 7:18 ferry. There were other lists at set times throughout the day, as the city adjusted and re-adjusted its workload.

6:36? Of course, he probably wouldn’t get anything on his first day, but he’d still have to get up and check the listings, and that _would_ affect Ray. Not a good beginning.  ~Could you start next At Mordez? With finding work for me.~ Yes, he could get a lot of persuading in over the weekend.

Swift keystrokes, and then a new section of the form: for the fitness tests, apparently, since the man then stood up and led the way to the exercise equipment. He strapped a pulse-counter to Bodie’s wrist, and then the equipment itself took Bodie through a ten-minute routine of timed repetitions of various sorts. Easy, peasy.

Afterwards, when they were waiting for Bodie’s pulse to slow, they talked a bit about Parass, Bodie’s village, which the man had only visited twice—very pretty, but no compelling attractions (or words to that effect).

~And, uh…~ A definite change of manner there, hesitant but hopeful. ~Are you staying in the city this evening? There is a lot to see and do if you have just arrived.~ My God! A chat-up line. Trust his luck to find another enthusiast for human sweat.

~My husband returns from his work at seven. I want to be back in Parass before then.~ Was this going to screw up his chances of getting work from these people? But he couldn’t string the guy along, so get it over and done with.

A nod and grunt of acceptance. It looked as if Bodie was still on his way to getting work. In the next second there were three beeps from the exercise machine, and the screen that was built into it delivered its judgement—which was gibberish to Bodie.

~/?/ one. The best. But that was /?/.~ Straight-forward approval, the hope now gone. They _were_ going through a strict period, weren’t they? Most people back home would have regarded a married man as just a more-interesting challenge.

Bodie removed the pulse-counter and handed it over, and then they went back to the computer. The man entered the results, then took a datacard printed with the name of the agency and put it in the slot. ~I’m making you a copy of your /?/. And giving you a copy of our /?/. We make payments for each week on the At Mordez of the next week, and we send you full details of the /?/ and our /?/.~ Their commission, presumably. The copying was finished, and he handed the datacard to Bodie.

~Is there a charge for this?~ Bodie gestured around the room.

~Yes.~ He named the price, which was modest. ~That pays for three months of listings. If you take little work from us in that time, then we will charge again. It is explained on the datacard. Do you /?/ to the charge?~

~It is not expensive. Will you take it from my payment card?~

~I have your details. It will be done when I press…~ His finger hovered over bright-red key with their currency sign. Bodie nodded, and the charge was made.

They stood up and Bodie was first at the door. However, he paused with the handle half-turned. ~I was thinking of going to other agencies, too. Is this permitted in the…?~ He fetched the datacard from his wallet, not having caught the word for “conditions” or whatever it was. On Earth, of course, he wouldn’t have asked, but who knew what was against the law here?

The man shrugged. ~Most people do.~ A smile and a tilt of the head. ~And then they come back to us.~ Bodie laughed and pulled the door open.

* * * * *

In the end, he only went to one other agency that afternoon: Eseto, chosen simply because it was closest to Salvad. Two sets of listings to go through in quarter of an hour at half six every morning seemed quite enough to start with. Save the other joining-fees for the time being, too.

The second agency was brisker and not quite so friendly. That might have been because he wasn’t so obviously in need of help this time—he was just another body off the streets, and he never even got to do his “born off-planet” routine. The woman took his information from the datacard and checked through it, checking also his identity card and his payment card. She asked a few questions, but didn’t change anything as a result of his answers, and he didn’t have to do the fitness tests again. The fee was fractionally lower, he got another datacard with a second copy of his details and this agency’s conditions, and he didn’t get chatted up. He was out again in ten minutes, with plenty of time to catch the 2:00 ferry.

* * * * *

Back home, the offer of the job at the factory was waiting for him. Was it a matter of just clicking on the Reject button and sending it back? Wait and ask Ray. He’d told them he wanted until tomorrow, anyway.

He got himself a tea and his notepad, then settled in front of the screen. His first priority was to get to grips with the Conditions and work out what he was likely to make from an eight-hour day. He started with the first datacard and found pages and pages of tables for different grades and the different types of work, and further tables that seemed to be listing supplements and deductions. Assume for the time being that he was going to be unfailingly prompt and reliable, but that he wasn’t ever going to do unsocial hours or the other money-makers. Well, assuming also that he got the middle-paying construction work, then it was about 20% more per day than the job in the factory. But if he was only working one day in two, then things got tighter. He’d still be able to pay his way, but it would have been difficult if he’d had to find rent out of that as well.

That was a thought. Did Ray own the flat outright, or was he paying off a loan? Not that it necessarily made a difference to Bodie’s finances, since the repayments would presumably be the same no matter now many people were living in the place. And if he did own it outright, then how? Had he accepted money from the family, or come into an inheritance? Maybe property was cheap here. Maybe they paid policemen really, really well. He might ask. He might not.

Ray hadn’t called. A mild disappointment. Still, Bodie could understand that he might not want to discuss the factory job (whether good news or bad) in stilted Hass Embrun with his colleagues listening in. Better left until the evening. It would have been good to see and hear him, though.

* * * * *

They hadn’t discussed whether Bodie would meet the ferry that evening, but he decided he would, and set off early in order to buy a bottle of chilled wine from the supermarket. Well, _he_ felt he had something to celebrate even if Ray might not.

“You look as if it was a good day.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose it was. But… No, I’m just so glad to see you.” And glad to be speaking English and suddenly to be completely himself again.

“I was thinking about you all day. Wishing I could be with you.” The prince seemed rather subdued. The effect of a day of worrying about his husband all alone in the big, bad city? Bodie just murmured in acknowledgement: better leave the details until they were home.

* * * * *

The prince didn’t want to ask. It was quite noticeable. A very restrained kiss, too, for someone who had been thinking about his husband all day—in fact, he seemed more interested in getting started on dinner. Bodie shrugged, opened the wine, and propped himself on a stool at the other side of the kitchen counter.

“D’you want me to learn how to cook your food?” An offer made out of the desire to pay his way, do his share.

“Not really, unless _you_ want to. I like cooking. It’s not work. I’d be coming home and doing this every night if I was on my own. No difference with two.”

“OK. I’ll stick to making toast and opening the wine, then.” They exchanged smiles. “I got the job this morning.”

“Oh! Well done.” A distracted kind of surprise.

“I’m not going to take it, though. I need you to show me how to send my reply.”

“Was it that bad?”

Bodie shrugged. “‘bout what I was expecting. Nice people. But they wanted me to work the afternoon shift. Two till ten.”

“But you wouldn’t be home until eleven! Gone eleven.”

“Yeah. So, no.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Now the danger was over, his regret did seem genuine.

“Wasn’t a wasted day, though. I signed up with a couple of agencies for casual labouring work. You know, where they call you in by the day.”

“How did that happen?” As if it was an accident, not a triumph of initiative on Bodie’s part. This was exactly as Bodie had expected the conversation to proceed and he stayed perfectly calm as he explained how it had happened. The prince’s reaction was an interesting mixture of admiration and horror. “Bodie, it’s not proper work.”

“Ray, it’ll bring me at least eighty sala a day. That’s proper enough for me.”

“You can do better. Don’t you believe that you can do better?”

“I’ll work my way up. Done it before, do it again. But I will not be a kept man. I _will_ pay my way.”

“It wouldn’t be _like_ that.”

“Of course it would. You know perfectly well it would. You’d hate it for yourself, so don’t wish it on me.”

The prince started chopping furiously, and bits of vegetable sprung off the board and even off the counter. Too soon, he ran out of vegetables, and then he stabbed the knife hard into the board. Bodie had been waiting for something like this, but flinched all the same.

“You are so. Fucking. Stubborn.” He was holding the handle of the knife, his head slumped to his chest.

“I’m not the only one, am I? Why are you here, in this one-bedroom flat, when you could be living next to a waterfall, making a fortune? We both know when we’ve earned something and when we haven’t.”

No reply. More than a minute went by before he released the knife—which remained upright—and then he started gathering the scattered chunks. He still didn’t look at Bodie. Bodie decided to back off, and took his glass and the bottle out onto the balcony. He’d been reading out there before the ferry arrived, and he picked up where he had left off.

Several pages later, there were footsteps behind him. He looked up, wary, but Ray just looked exhausted. He’d brought his wineglass, which had to be a good sign. A hand on Bodie’s shoulder, the lightest of touches.

“I want better for you. That’s all.”

“I know. I know. But let’s be realistic. It doesn’t bother me. Don’t let it bother you. Did you get the knife out of the board?”

“Had to. Needed it for the yako.”

“Sit down. Here, I’ll top you up.” Bodie pushed his book to the far side of the table.

* * * * *

“You cleared up. I would have done that.”

“I needed something to do. You can make the coffee.”

“OK. Thanks.” The smile he got from the prince was nearly back to normal, and the prince’s choice of record was a bouncy jazz compilation (won in a raffle), so that was good.

“You trying to get me drunk?” Bodie’s measures of scotch were unusually large.

“Thought I might. Never seen it yet, have I?”

“You don’t want to. I’m fun for about five seconds and then I start thinking deep thoughts.”

“Oh, for me it’s about half an hour. And then I have to have a curry and get into a fight.”

“Such different body-chemistry.” The prince was shaking his head, grinning. “In some respects.”

“How much before you’re into the deep thoughts?”

“More than this.”

“Does it affect your performance? Stop you getting an erection, I mean?”

“No.” Surprise. “So it does with you?”

“More than this. I wouldn’t do that to you. Or to me.”

“Good.”

Shortly afterwards: “When you were thinking about me today, how much of it was sex?” Just the act of asking the question was arousing.

“Some. Vague, of course. Certainly compared with that.” He was looking at the bulge in Bodie’s trousers. “So what have _you_ been thinking about?”

While he was far from the curry stage, Bodie had mislaid some significant inhibitions. “Well, recently I’ve been… Promise you won’t laugh.”

“Promised. What?”

“It’s Homa. In that huge bedroom off the gallery. He’s lying there with his shirt open, and he lets me… touch them.”

“Do you suck?”

Bodie nodded. “It tastes sweet. Very sweet.”

“And what am I doing?”

Nothing, because he wasn’t there. But that was obviously not the right answer. “Oh…” He licked his lips. “It keeps changing. Sometimes you’re sucking as well. Sometimes you get my trousers down and you go into me while I’m sucking.”

“Oh, I’d like that. Into the bedroom, Bodie, while we can still walk.” They took the shortest route, via the balcony. If the door to the bedroom had been locked from the inside, they might well have coupled right there, against the doorframe—and felt fortunate later for the shielding of the awning. Another time, doubtless.

* * * * *

“I don’t think Homa will go for it. Ferros neither, come to that.” The prince’s tone was light.

“No harm in asking, though.”

Gratifying to get a momentary look of alarm out of the prince. “Pervert.”

“Thank you. Quick learner, eh?”

“I’ll say. What is it that you like about it? For us it just means… babies.”

“Uh… I suppose it’s… Have you really never had sex with a woman?”

“At college. When I was trying everything.”

“Like that, eh?”

“It wasn’t _bad_. Just didn’t seem like proper sex to me. You see, there was a team of workmen at the house one summer. At exactly the time I was ready to pay attention. There was a couple, and… well, I spied on them for weeks. I’ve always thought that set the pattern.”

“You have sex with any of them?”

“I was still far too young. And me and them at the house…” He pulled a face. “Wouldn’t have been right. Never even talked to them.” Was that snobbery? Or anti-snobbery? Or something else altogether? “So it’s because you’re missing sex with women?” No sign that he was threatened by the idea.

“No, it’s not that. Be thinking about Ferros, then, wouldn’t I? And I’ve never had a thing about women with milk. That’s just babies to me, too. Not sure. Think they’d feel good to hold. Firm. A bit cool. Mostly it’s just… how strange it is still. Wear off after a few years, I suppose.”

“I’d grow some for you if I could. But since you’re not going to get pregnant…”

“We’ll just have to make do with thinking about Homa.”

The prince chuckled. “If he only knew. Not that he’d be offended, but he’d tell everyone. No sense of privacy—once you get to know him.”

“What about your sister?” Meaning: how did she cope with such a gabby husband?

“Um… She _would_ think it was strange. But then just shrug and take it as a good sign that you’d got more used to us.”

“You could see it like that.” In ten years time, would he have forgotten what it was like for humans? Shown a picture of a London park or nursery, would he find himself thinking, “Single babies? Don’t these people have twins?” and then start coming up with theories to explain the coincidence that, for every family using the park that day, it was the mother’s turn to breastfeed. Probably decide that the fathers must be in another park, with the other twins. Maybe the forgetting wouldn’t even take ten years.

He wished he was one of them. He did, really. They seemed to know a lot about how to live—so much that you could forgive them their moments of smugness. In all this time, had he seen anything ugly or neglected? Anyone in need? And it wasn’t just the circles he’d been moving in, he was sure. Of course, as one of them, he’d have turned out a different person: would there have been a twin for him? college? steady boyfriends and amiable hints from their parents? And on top of that, work in which funerals were rare and shocking. Yes, a very different person. But would Ray still have fallen in love with him? Would Ray have been what he needed himself?

Meaningless speculation, but it still ended up unsettling him. There _would_ be more arguments because of what he was, where he came from—accept it, work on making it easier for both of them. Yes, but let that work start tomorrow. For now he just wanted to burrow closer like this, lie in Ray’s arms, and feel his breathing come into rhythm with the sound of the surf.

The sound of the surf. It was the background music of his new life as a married man, a continuous presence since his arrival. In the first week or so it had kept him awake, but now he only heard it when he wanted to. Probably needed it now to sleep properly—nearly as much as he needed Ray beside him.

“What else are you missing from before, Bodie? From home?” A quiet question after a long silence, and somewhere between apprehension and simple curiosity. Ray must have been thinking some unsettling thoughts too.

“Nothing, really. Can’t have thought about the place more than twice, three times.” A reply as casual as you could get.

“But there was your work. Friends. Food. You must.”

“Are you going by what _you_ missed on the ship?”

“That and common sense.”

“But you didn’t want to be there, did you? And I want to be here. It makes all the difference. I could just as well ask what _you_ miss from before. Going to the bars? Being able to watch TV without having to explain all the jokes? Going out for a meal with Gavio and just being another couple—these days whenever you bump into friends you have to decide what version to tell them about me.”

“Oh, come on!” Indignation. “Only times I’ve thought about Gavio is when you’ve asked about him.”

“Same with me and home, Ray. Don’t run away with the idea that I had my life sorted out back there. The last few years had been good, but it wasn’t going to last. Way I see it, you rescued me.” From the bullet with his name on it, or from thirty years as a security guard with Homebase—take your pick. “I’m happy. I told you.”

“Would you tell me if you weren’t?”

“If it was something to do with you, yeah.” Which wasn’t supposed to mean that he’d keep Ray in the dark about everything else. It was more a promise that he wouldn’t go in for silent forbearance, that Ray needn’t waste his energies in trying to second-guess problems. “And would you tell me?”

“Thought I had.” Sounding rueful, rather than eager for another argument, but it forced Bodie to lift his head and check.

“I have to try it, Ray. I’ll only take being rescued so far. Come on. Would you want me any different?” Slowly, the prince shook his head, expression serious, almost sad. “If I hate it, I’ll stop. We’ll find something else.”

The prince took his hand, studied it, manipulated each finger—an inspection rather than a caress. “Don’t get hurt. If anything even comes close, I want you to stop. That same day.”

“Is that what’s worrying you? I’m careful. I know how to be careful.”

“I’ve been with labourers from the bars. I’ve seen what can happen. Careful isn’t always enough.”

“None of them were married men, were they?” Possibly even completely true, here—were they the most faithful people in the universe? “We married men are so cautious, so safety-conscious, we all get fired on our first day.” Finally, a smile from the prince, though a shaky one, and the attentions to Bodie’s hand turned gentle. “And I could say the same to you. How do I know what you get up to out there? Not as if you’re in the tamest job in the world, is it?”

“It’s not like your -” His what? Seconds went by, and Bodie’s curiosity was not satisfied. “Of course. I’m good, Bodie. And I am careful. Of course no…” He swallowed, then wet his lips. “Nothing is more important than you. Than coming back to you.”

So how dangerous was his work? Bodie was intrigued, and envious, but finally frightened with an unfamiliar and helpless fear. No. They were going to die of old age like Udom Kol and Embrun. They had fifty years owing to them, at least. “Don’t. Don’t talk like that.”

“You think I want to? You made me.” Ray knew the fear too, was familiar with it, even.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

They held each other close, and it was a long time before they spoke again.

* * * * *

The next morning, Bodie got the ferry with the prince. It was only the third time they’d made this crossing together. Bodie had set himself the task of learning the layout of the city, and especially the bus and train routes from the ferry terminal—he couldn’t afford those deductions for late arrival. The prince agreed that it was a good idea, but showed no real enthusiasm, made no suggestions. Did he, at heart, want Bodie dependent on him? Thoroughly tamed? Was this what he saved his jealousy for? One day, Bodie might ask. He tried to imagine how he would feel if their positions were reversed, but failed, finding the differences too fundamental for translation—was he supposed to imagine himself descending from the skies? taking Ray back to Earth and to married life in a CI5 flat?

This time, they didn’t sit out on deck, but took a bench inside, in the crowded cafe area. Bodie bought mugs of kenit, and they sat in near-silence and read. The prince was going through the day’s news on his viewer, and Bodie was struggling with the novel he’d got from the library, writing the unknown words on his pad for later, for when they were home in the evening and could speak English again.

~Is this what you do every morning? Read the news?~

The prince looked up from the viewer and nodded. ~It’s /?/ for work, sometimes.~

~What do you do in the evenings? On the way back.~

A smile. ~Think about you? I try to read a book, but all I do is think about you.~

Bodie returned the smile, charmed and reassured. He was tempted to ask for details, but it’d be sex (wouldn’t it?), with the inevitable effect on both of them, and he no longer saw himself as the sort of man who had sex in toilets. ~What’s the news today?~

~Oh.~ The prince gave a frown, hit a couple of buttons, and scanned the list that appeared on the viewer. ~I don’t think there’s much here that you’d find interesting.~ Find comprehensible, more likely.

~What’s the -~ “Headline”? Maybe there wasn’t even a word for it. ~What’s the most important story?~

~It is an argument between the people who /?/ the city. About how they should be spending money on the different types of /?/. Between the roads and the trains and the buses. And the ferries, of course.~

~Is it a big argument? Would they stop the ferries?~

~Oh, no. It happens every year. People would worry if they didn’t argue.~

~If they did stop the ferries, would we move into the city?~

~We could. Or find a village outside. But they won’t stop them.~

Bodie nodded, and returned to his book.

* * * * *

The method Bodie had chosen was to take a page at random from the business directory and make his way from the ferry terminal to each address in turn, taking different routes there and back, if possible. “Page” wasn’t really accurate but that was how he still thought. Ray, who had called the list up and printed it out for him, might call it a “screenful”. They were all carpenters’ workshops and showrooms, apparently, which some might take as a hint about apprenticeships and college, but Ray said he’d not even checked before printing it out, and since when had Ray bothered with hints?

Transport within the city was practically free to those whose ID cards showed that they were resident in the appropriate district, and the machine wouldn’t sell you a travelpass unless you first fed it your card. Not an easy planet to go underground, to drop out of sight. Though of course there must be a line in fake or stolen IDs. Bodie thought of these things as a matter of habit although they would never again affect him, either as a customer or as a law-enforcer—except, maybe, to the extent that they must be part of Ray’s work, and he felt connected to every aspect of Ray’s life.

* * * * *

They hadn’t made definite arrangements about the evening’s ferry, since Bodie wasn’t sure how long the list would take him, or whether he’d have given up in disgust by lunchtime. As it turned out, lunchtime was indeed his low-point, and if he hadn’t done the cost-conscious thing and brought sandwiches in his backpack, he might have seized the excuse and gone home.

The table they’d had in the morning was occupied, so the prince was standing against the end of the nearest bench. He had his viewer out, and was absorbed in his reading, with none of the glances up and around of someone who is waiting. Bodie had to speak to get his attention.

~I didn’t think it would be so busy.~

“Bodie!” Such delight and surprise. Such a privilege to be married to him. Bodie took his shoulders and leaned forward for a brief kiss—well… he’d intended it to be brief.

~You didn’t think I’d be here.~

~No. Or I didn’t let myself /?/. In case you weren’t.~ A wise approach in someone who wasn’t made for disappointment. ~Let’s sit outside. I’ll get /?/. Wine for you?~

The evenings had got slightly cooler and the day had been cloudy, but it was still comfortable out on the deck—more comfortable for Bodie, really, than when they’d first arrived on the planet.

“You kept at it for the whole day, then? Or did you find something else to do?” The prince had presumably decided that no one was going to pay any attention to them here.

~No, all day. I’m getting good. Name a street.~

A considering look. ~Pas Disa~

Ray had played fair: not insultingly easy, but not impossibly obscure. ~Line Four to Awasa, then Line Two to Balabak. Then a five minute walk, or the 26 bus.~

~Yes, that is good.~

~I’ll come in tomorrow with another list, and that should be enough.~ It wasn’t a large city, and it was unusually compact—much easier to deal with than, say, Liverpool. ~What shall we do at the weekend?~ Ray’s first after going back to work, and for himself the last before he had to get used to a six o’clock start every day.

Slowly: ~Let’s think about it when we get home.~ What on earth did he have in mind? Something they couldn’t discuss in public? Something they’d need English for? Or both?

* * * * *

“So what _do_ you fancy for the weekend?” They’d eaten, they’d had lazy, affectionate sex, and now they were watching _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ (dialled up from the fleet’s library) and were on their second pot of coffee.

The prince reduced the volume slightly, pulling a face. “I’m not really sure.”

“Stay here? Go away somewhere? Fuck each other silly?”

“Oh, all of those. No, let’s stay here. We can go out for a walk if we get restless, but really what I’ve missed this week is being here with you. Being home.”

“Me too. Sounds great.” Bodie gathered his husband closer still, and they returned to the film.

* * * * *

It rained on and off throughout the weekend. On the first day, they took their restless moods down to the gym, but on the second, with the rain continuing, they decided it was time to buy Bodie a waterproof jacket. Wet grass was more appealing than wet sand, so they took the winding road up to the cliffs and walked for miles along the coastal path, hands clasped and kept warm and dry in the prince’s pocket.

“Would you be happier if I didn’t work at all?” They had just started on the walk back, having abandoned the idea of going as far as the cliff-top restaurant even though the rain seemed to be over for the day. Bodie didn’t know why he’d asked the question, since he didn’t want to hear the answer. Maybe because it bothered him to be feeling at odds with Ray—over anything.

“No! No, you mustn’t think that.” The prince had stopped walking, bringing Bodie to a halt too.

“But something’s getting to you. You didn’t even like it when I came in with you on At Pontal and At Camaran. Can’t help feeling that you _would_ be happier if I was safely at home.”

“Oh.” A long sigh, and the prince tilted his head back, then frowned. “I don’t know what it - I’m proud of you, Bodie, what you’re doing. I admire you for it. So much. Maybe I - I don’t know.” An abrupt end and he started them walking again.

* * * * *

“Maybe it’s because I think you’re coping too well.” It was many minutes later and the prince’s tone was thoughtful. He didn’t look at Bodie, so was probably thinking aloud. They carried on walking.

“Too well, eh? And that’s getting to you?” Was this the royal speaking? Some bone-deep assumption that commoners couldn’t run their own lives?

“Making me realise what you took on when you came with me. I know we’ve talked about it before. Mentioned it. But it was just words. ‘What are you missing from home?’ As if that was all you were coping with. But you’re coping with us. With being with us. Every day. And I don’t know how you do it. That’s what it is, I think. That I know that the only times you can really talk, be yourself, are when you’re with me. And the times when you’re not disturb me because… I don’t know how you do it.”

So his achievements of that week, the triumphs of initiative and determination, had not gone unnoticed. He felt now as if Ray had been with him throughout, as if he hadn’t been alone after all. “Well… it’s been hard work at times. But that’s mostly the language and worrying if I’m about to make a fool of myself. It’s getting easier. Now I know how friendly your people are. Helpful. I’ve started telling people I can’t speak properly because of a genetic problem, and that’s working fine.”

“A genetic problem? That’s a good idea. And no one’s suspected?”

“Don’t think so.”

“I’ll use that at work if anyone overhears us talking. I know I haven’t helped this week. It’ll be different now I’ve worked it out. I promise.”

So it hadn’t been a mistake to ask the question. Bodie felt his few remaining worries evaporate, dispersed by the emanations of heat from his near-aching heart. An extreme of contentment. “Ray. Ray!” He was surprised at the urgency in his own voice. “Do I make _you_ feel like I do now? That we’ve really known each other forever? I’ve tried to remember what it was like before I ever saw you, and I can’t. I can’t.”

The reply was wordless but clear: arms encircling his back, lips lifting to his. It was a long, long kiss, and almost still. Their tongues touched once, lightly, near the beginning, then slid apart. That was all they needed. Bodie felt as if all his memories were reforming—Liverpool, the Atlantic, Africa, London, everything—all absorbing the knowledge of Ray’s presence. Nothing there had any power to hurt him now, since he had not endured alone, after all.


	13. Chapter 12

## Chapter 12

At quarter to nine on At Mordez morning, Bodie found himself signing in at a building site a few blocks from the police station. This involved giving the foreman the agency’s code for the day’s work—and of course the story about his genetic problem. The agency had not warned the foreman of what he was getting—or if they had, he hadn’t read that far—and he was less than thrilled.

~What do they think I’m /?/ here? A /?/? I’m /?/ to send you back. You’re /?/ that we need to get started /?/. And today we have eight hours of work that can be done by a /?/. You understand /?/ of that, eh?~

~I understood enough. It doesn’t mean I’m stupid, you know. The rest of my brain works very well.~

A flicker of surprise, quickly drenched by cynicism. ~Well, you’ll have to /?/ it, if we’ll /?/ you again.~ He turned, and raised his voice to reach a group some yards away. ~Bret!~ A hefty blonde woman looked up and came towards them—about one in five on the site were women, which got Bodie wondering how the fuck the foreman dared to get choosy about him and his slight problems with language. ~Salvad have sent us this one with /?/.~ He glanced down to check the viewer in his hand. ~Name of Bodie. He says he’s not stupid, but we’ve got to /?/. Start him on /?/ for the morning. And /?/ him.~

The woman nodded and led Bodie back to the group. ~Have you done this kind of work before?~

~Yes. But not here. Not in Dishna. In the place I worked before, they had many like me. They were used to my problems. I am a good worker.~

Again, surprise. ~Well, you don’t sound like a /?/ to me.~ What had the foreman said to her? ~I’ll get you started now.~ A quick remark to the group—that she’d be back in ten minutes?—then the two of them veered off to a small, temporary building where Bodie left his backpack, collected a hard-hat, and they both registered as “on site”. After that they were threading their way through the rubble to the far side of the site.

She demonstrated what she wanted him to do: use an abrasive brush on the walls of a newly-built room, presumably for some treatment or coating later in the day. Then she handed over the brush, and watched him at work, insisting on seeing him tackle the full height of a wall, which took several minutes. However, there was a smile for him at the end, and in the next minute he was on his own.

It was strenuous work, particularly when you were aiming to keep your strokes even. Back home he wouldn’t have taken it so seriously, but here he didn’t know what he could get away with. There were voices nearby, sounds of machinery and laden footsteps, but he didn’t give in to his curiosity.

He was nearing the end of the third wall when the woman came back, and he carried on working as she walked the length of his walls, lightly-pressed palm testing high, then low.

~You were right. You are a good worker.~

~Thank you. I hope you’ll tell that to the foreman.~

A nod. ~I didn’t tell you the times of our /?/. The next is in twelve minutes. You’re with the red /?/.~ She tapped the red stripe on her hard-hat—which matched that on Bodie’s.

Bodie checked his watch and found that nearly an hour and a half had passed. Twelve minutes would be on the half hour. Was she talking about a tea break, or something? Surely that was a law of nature on building sites. ~Where do I go?~

~The /?/. It’s just behind the /?/.~

~I’m sorry. I didn’t understand that. Is it near where we got these?~ He touched his hard-hat.

~Yes, that’s the Cam Digba. And the /?/ is behind it. Ten minutes.~ And she was gone again.

A tea break. If there’d been any sign that it was optional, he’d choose to give it a miss, even though he’d been sweating and could do with some liquids. Not their version of liquids, though. What were the chances that they’d be drinking their kenit weak enough for him? Nil. It’d be stand-the-spoon-in-it strength. Just the smell would set his teeth on edge for the rest of the day.

And there’d be talking. What they’d watched the night before. Items in the news. Jokes. Gossip about the royals, maybe. Would they try to include him? The best he could hope was that they’d treat the day’s casuals as beneath their notice.

Still, he set off promptly at half past and found the rest of the reds—fifteen or so—gathered behind the hard-hat building, where it turned out there was a smaller building with a counter running its full length, like a roadside kebab-and-salmonella van. This one was only doing kenit, though, and it took the production-line approach, with no cosy, personal touches: there was an enormous urn at the far right of the counter, with a jug of milk in front of it, and four identical brown mugs were lined up in the middle. These mugs matched those in the hands of his fellow reds, so he guessed that one was his. He filled it to the brim with milk and took a place in the margin of the group, willing himself to seem like everybody else.

The kenit was just about drinkable if he kept it at very small sips, and summoned all his saliva to dilute the sips. He couldn’t follow the conversation at all. For a while he thought they were discussing the foreman, but then there was something about ‘over a hundred years’ and after that he gave up.

~Where were you working before?~ The woman. “Bret”, was it the foreman had called her?

~Wilton.~ That was what Ray had told his colleagues about his new husband—they might as well both use the same story at work.

~Oh? I’ve never been there. Was there a /?/ for work? Was that why you came here?~

~No. I married a man who works here. That’s why I moved.~

~What work does your husband do?~

~He’s a policeman.~

She glanced in the direction of the police station, looking slightly surprised. So even she thought that a policeman deserved better than a casual labourer. ~How did you meet?~

How indeed? He didn’t have the vocabulary for the “cook and warehouseman” story, and he only knew one other place-name. It would have to be that. ~We were both on holiday in Monor. We visited the palace at the same time and we started talking.~

~Where did you spend the betrothal? Here, or your home?~

~With his family. They live near Monor.~ All completely true, for once.

~That’s interesting. It is similar to what happened to one of my sisters last year. Except that they met in /?/. And he came to us for the betrothal. And it was /?/ after two weeks. So not very similar, I /?/.~ She grinned, and suddenly the heftiness had an appeal—or would have, if he wasn’t a married man.

~They didn’t marry then?~ More a statement than a question, said to check—and getting a nod in response. ~Would he have moved here?~

~Maybe. But they were both very /?/ to their homes. It became more /?/ and that’s why it /?/. I think, with her, it could only become /?/ with someone /?/. So she wouldn’t have to move.~

Best not to attempt a comment on that, in case he’d got it completely wrong. Instead, he changed the subject, and asked what she wanted him to do when he’d finished the room. Answer: the same with the room to the right. And it sounded as if they had enough of that work to keep him going all week.

* * * * *

They broke for lunch at midday, getting half an hour. Bodie had brought sandwiches and fruit juice in his backpack, and he sat by the fence and tried to read his book. Would they think he was stuck up? Had Bret told the rest of the squad about him? He caught a few curious glances, but they seemed neutral enough. No one tried to talk to him.

After lunch, he finished the second room and was then sent to join a group of three who were already at work on the walls of a much larger room—a lecture hall, probably—with a floor built as a set of deep steps, so that the wall at the bottom was a good twenty feet high.

The woman in the group—dark and tense, with musculature similar to the prince’s—had a radio, tuned to a music station. The three locals knew most of the songs, and there were comments on each new one, and occasional bursts of singing (or muttering) along. Of course, this increased Bodie’s feeling of being an outsider, but on balance he thought he preferred it to the morning, when he’d been on his own. It was encouraging to see their sense of unity in action, to see how natural it seemed to them, born of trust and easy-living, not something to be used as a weapon against the Foreigner. They’d be perfectly willing to accept him, as soon as he felt brave enough to step forward and ask to join them.

The size of the room meant they couldn’t really talk during the work, but they made up for it during the tea-breaks. He gave them his story about the genetic defect, about meeting Ray in Monor, about moving to be with Ray. One of the men—awful skin, bog-brush hair, but friendly so you stopped noticing—asked when they’d met in the palace.

~Two months ago. Seven weeks.~ A two month betrothal would be reasonable, which meant he’d just arrived in the city.

~Did you have a /?/ betrothal?~

Safest just to grunt and nod.

~So you were in Monor two weeks ago? When Udom Kol and Embrun /?/.~ The woman, showing lively curiosity. Did she suspect? Did they all suspect?

~We were. But we didn’t go to the palace.~

~Do you know anyone who did?~

He shook his head, and swallowed.

~I think I might go for Gibso and Ingan. They say you could taste the /?/.~

~The /?/ will be /?/. Half the planet will be there.~ The other man, being very discouraging.

~I think that makes it more /?/~

No, they couldn’t possibly suspect. There were no recordings of the new prince’s voice, and by now they’d have built a new story around Embrun’s accent. Besides, everyone probably imagined that the new prince had a cushy job at the spaceport. Yes, they knew that their royals had real lives when they weren’t wearing the masks, but a near-dumb labourer…? That was too real. Maybe, indeed, that was his best disguise. If he went to college, got respectable, _then_ he’d be in trouble.

* * * * *

They finished the room shortly after the second tea break of the afternoon, then joined up with another four, organised into teams of two. Bodie was with the friendly man with the awful skin, whose name turned out to be Rina. Each team had to operate a machine that spread a plaster-like coating over the wall, and it was definitely a two-man job. The spreader was like a spatula two feet wide, and it spread from the bottom of the wall to the top, lifted on telescopic poles right up to the ceiling. It took two to move it into place for the next two-foot section of wall, and then one worked the controls as it moved upwards, while the other (Bodie, in this case) kept up the supply of the two-gallon canisters of coating material. The finish was impressive, Bodie had to admit.

It took them about an hour to do one room (the second room of the two Bodie had prepared in the morning), with little time for conversation. Their few exchanges were relaxed, though, and Bodie gathered that he was doing fine. Their next task was one of the side walls of the lecture hall, and this was more complicated because of the stepped floor. It took them about an hour and a half, which was gone six, and into overtime. The team on the other side wall was only three quarters done, and the coating operation couldn’t be interrupted overnight (something to do with the joins between sections), so Bodie and Rina hauled their machine over to help, and between the four of them they were finished by half past. Then ten minutes to clean and stow the machines, five minutes of bureaucracy with Bret in the office—confirming that 6.48 was the time he’d finished work, and that he was accepting their offer of work for the rest of the week—and he was finally finished for the day.

He turned right out of the gate, hurrying towards the train station. He’d never make the 7:00, so it’d be the 7:36, and home gone half eight. What sort of mood would Ray be in? He didn’t register the high gasp of the car horn on the other side of the road, nor the second gasp.

“Bodie!”

He stopped and looked around, astounded, then ran across the road without checking the traffic. “You came and waited. My God. I thought you’d be halfway home by now.”

“No point being home if you’re not there.”

Their kiss was hungry, a powerline between mouth and groin. Bodie unbuttoned the prince’s shirt, found the nipples already hard, rubbed the left one with his palm in the way that meant he was thinking about breasts—as they both knew, by now.

“No. No. We can’t do this here.” The prince had broken the kiss, and was pushing Bodie’s hand away. He was flushed, and his breathing far from even.

“Where, then?” Over an hour until they could get home. So where?

The prince closed his eyes hard and ran a hand through his hair. “There’s a place around the coast. About quarter of an hour. Further if you want us to get out of the car.”

“Uh. Just want you. Let’s go.”

It was off the main road: the car park at the start of a footpath along the coast, and deserted at this time on a weekday. In fact, they didn’t need all that privacy. It seemed they’d both decided against front-seat gymnastics, and with barely two sentences of discussion, they settled down to bringing one another off by hand, the prince first, and then Bodie. Afterwards they leaned heavily against one another, all four hands clasped together and resting on their thighs.

“I never thought you’d be waiting for me.”

“Didn’t think I would, either. Found I didn’t want to go home. Been thinking about you all day.”

“Me too.” Well, he had been thinking about him a lot. Just not in that yearning way. The novelty of the day’s work had taken too much concentration.

“Was it alright? You looked OK when you left the site.”

“It was fine. They want me for the rest of the week.” And he described the work he’d been doing, the people he’d met, the conversations he’d had. The prince’s interest seemed sincere, and there was no hint of the disdain that Bodie had half expected—Ray was keeping his promise of the weekend. Bodie said nothing about his initial reception from the foreman. Now that it was over, he preferred to forget it himself.

* * * * *

“You hungry? D’you want to eat here? In Dishna.”

“Not really dressed for it.” Bodie’s work clothes had picked up a fair amount of grit in the course of the day—and now there was the sweat and come on top of that. “Let’s get something on the ferry.”

The 8:36 was very quiet. They got a snack and a couple of beers, and took a bench well away from what activity there was. Bodie fell asleep over his book, tired by the exertions and apprehensions of the day, and thoroughly relaxed by the attentions of his husband. He woke of his own accord before they reached Parass, and found himself supported in the circle of Ray’s arm.

“Oh.” His voice was still groggy with sleep. “You took the book.” It was on the table in front of him, laid at an angle on top of Ray’s viewer. Ray must have left his own reading, rescued the book. Bodie wished he could have seen that, seen himself asleep with Ray watching over him.

“Think I lost your place.” Almost a whisper.

“Doesn’t matter.” He closed his eyes again, and entrusted the weight of his head to Ray’s shoulder.

* * * * *

For the rest of that week, they travelled in together each morning, and then back again in the evening. It was a long week for Bodie, whose system was used to a break after five days. He could never quite relax, either—yes, he’d coped with everything so far, but what would they have him doing next?

By the end of the third day, everyone in the red squad had heard his story and the interest in him waned. When he didn’t join in their conversations, and sat with his book during the lunch break, they left him alone, though they were still perfectly friendly. If he was the type that preferred to listen, and if he needed time to himself once in a while, then that was fine—they didn’t take it personally. ” _Bodie? Oh, yes, he was the shy one we got from Salvad._ ” Shy Bodie. Get used to it.

He got the impression that, despite the “genetics” story and his awkward speech, they simply couldn’t take in the fact that he was only understanding a fraction of what they said. Bret, holding forth during a tea-break, would include him in her glances around the group—and he’d find himself automatically nodding and smiling and mirroring her expressions. So it wasn’t their fault, exactly. He was misleading them in this, as well.

Finally, it was At Oba Nyon. He’d done a whole week of paying work, with some overtime, and they had more work for him next week, too. It wasn’t bad work. Better than minding a machine. There was variety, and some freedom to set your own pace and think your own thoughts. You didn’t have to stay alert through day upon day in which nothing happened—that had been the worst part of CI5 (of all of military life). This was going to work out.

“I thought we’d go out for a meal. Celebrate the start of the weekend.”

“I’d love to but… I’m still not dressed for it.”

The prince smiled, thoroughly pleased with himself. “I brought a change of clothes for you. We can stop off at the Musco Hotel.” The beehive hotel, where they’d stayed the night before their flight. “You can change there.”

* * * * *

The building site ran out of work for him halfway through the third week, so it was back to the business with the 6:36 listings. He put in for three jobs with Salvad, but didn’t get any of them. A flurry of swearing, and then he started making the coffee.

“Maybe it’s always like this midweek.” The prince’s tone was sympathetic. But had Bodie seen a glint of satisfaction there? It was possible that he was hoping the work would dry up and Bodie would be forced to reconsider. “You’ll pick it up again next week. I’ll miss you on the ferry, though.”

Bodie had initially assumed, along with the prince, that he wouldn’t be working for the rest of the week, but as he walked back from seeing Ray off at the jetty, he remembered that there were other postings throughout the day. OK, so he might only work four hours today, but it would more than pay for the fare across, and they’d probably want him for the rest of the week. Maybe he should even go into the city anyway, so he’d be there ready if the work came in. He didn’t have to be at home to get the postings—he could dial into their communications address from any payphone, and reply to the postings in the same way. Yes, that was probably the best thing to do.

The next posting was at 10:00, and then every hour after that. So if he got the 8:36, he’d be in the city, ready and waiting. There was no rush. He’d already made his sandwiches while waiting for 7:00 and the day’s assignment, so it was just a matter of going home to collect his backpack.

* * * * *

Come 10:00, Eseto had twice as many offers as Salvad, and he decided it would increase his chances if he went with them for a change. It seemed to be the right decision, since 10:30 presented him with demolition work in a residential area to the north of the city. He wanted to call Ray and tell him the news and the address, but he didn’t know Ray’s number at work. Maybe he could get it through Directory Enquiries? But even if he managed that, Ray would probably be out of the office and he’d have to leave a message. And that was definitely beyond him.

The work was taking place in a large, detached house, and it wasn’t so much demolition as remodelling: taking out a wall, moving a staircase, changing a window, reshaping a balcony. Bodie was joining a team of five, standing in for a sixth who had injured his ankle the day before and hadn’t made it into work that morning after all. They were in a distracted mood, being slightly behind schedule and with an inspection from the house’s owners expected in a few hours—so they didn’t waste any comment on Bodie’s accent, but set him to work clearing out rubble from the old staircase.

The inspection did not go well. The owners radiated a disappointment that verged on a sense of betrayal, but the team didn’t respond with the bullshitting reassurances that Bodie regarded as part of the game. Maybe this was how the game was played here, with the owners holding all the cards. Or maybe this was a special situation. Was the team new, or struggling? Was there something personal between the team and the owners? Interesting, but he doubted if he’d find out.

The lunch break was a fusillade of rapid, five-way argument, which echoed around the large, bare kitchen (stripped of every item of equipment except the kettle). Bodie joined them, but experienced as pure noise the argument was unbearable, and he wolfed his sandwich down and was back at work within minutes, not caring whether or not he’d get paid for this.

Finally they seemed to reach a tentative agreement, and then there was the sound of chairs scraping back, and then footsteps off to different parts of the house.

~/?/ and /?/, eh?~ The foreman was standing over Bodie, smiling ruefully—an expression which instantly ruined the slight resemblance Bodie had seen between the man and Cowley. ~We’re not always like /?/.~

Bodie stood up. ~You are having a difficult day, I can see.~

~That’s an /?/. You heard that they’ll /?/ if we haven’t got /?/ by next /?/.~ Bodie might have heard, but he hadn’t understood. A nod, though. ~We can only do it if we work like /?/ through the weekend. And the doctor told /?/ he has to /?/ so…~

~You want me to work at the weekend.~ Not quite a question.

~There’d be a /?/, as well as the agency’s rates.~ He patted the pocket of his jacket in a way that unmistakeably said “cash in hand”.

The agency paid time and a half for weekends. ~Yeah? How much?~

~Fifty sala.~

Useful money. ~Make it sixty. But I won’t work An Uraba.~ An eight day week was quite enough. And Ray would be furious. But it was good money, and the buzz of being needed was hard to resist.

~We may have /?/ by then. Sixty.~ And he placed the back of his hand along his throat in a formal gesture—sealing a deal, presumably. Maybe Bodie was supposed to do the same, but he would have felt a fool attempting it. Instead, he smiled and gave a decisive nod, and seemed to get away without causing offence.

* * * * *

He left promptly at 6:00, and caught the 6:36 with five minutes to spare. Ray had probably got the 6:00, was out there on the water already. Should have left a note for him. He’d be expecting his husband to meet him off the ferry, like his first week back at work. Why hadn’t he left a note? There’d been enough time. Maybe he hadn’t really believed he’d get work.

“Did you get lost?” No worry, no “where have you been?” Just mild interest.

“No. I got the 6:36. Just got in.”

“You were in the city? I thought you’d gone out for a walk. I knew you’d found something to do when you weren’t in at lunchtime.”

So Ray had called. Probably expecting a fond exchange of I-missed-yous. “Sorry. I know I should have called you myself, but I didn’t think I’d get through. I was working. I got work in the 10:00 postings.”

A frown—or maybe it was just surprise. “I thought you weren’t going to bother until next week.”

Bodie shrugged. “Seemed worth a try. And the work was out there. Too much work as it turned out.” He flashed a grin. “I agreed to work a couple of days at the weekend.”

The prince opened his mouth… then closed it with an audible clunk of teeth, and for some time they stared at one another.

“They’ve got problems. They need helping out. And they’re offering good money. It might not take the two days.”

“Well… You’ve already said yes. Not much point in me arguing, is there?”

“We’ll have the evenings, and all of An Uraba. You could visit Plassen. Other friends. Be able to talk to them properly for a change.”

“Yeah. I could do that.” Enthusiastic, no, but not sulking.

“I am sorry, Ray. If we’d had anything planned, I’d have said no, but…”

“I know. I can guess how it went. Relax. We’ll make up for it next weekend.”

Now Bodie reached out, finally confident that his touch would be accepted. “I’ll miss you all the time. They’ll be long days. The longest.” The curls moved against his cheek as the prince nodded.

“I’ll come in with you. We’ll come home together.”

Adding two more hours, as much as three, to the time they could spend together in each day. Bodie tightened his grip, and murmured his relief and gratitude into the prince’s ear.

* * * * *

They commuted together for the rest of the working week as well, so by the weekend the prince had already established a favourite waiting-place opposite the house. On the An Embrun they went straight home, but on the An Udom Kol they stayed in the city for a meal. They’d agreed on the meal beforehand—it had been the prince’s suggestion, and he’d promised to choose somewhere really different—but for Bodie it was memorable not so much for the cave-like setting and the near-endless succession of dishes, as for the fact that he was able to insist on paying, and to pay with money that was entirely his own, and entirely earned. The prince made no comment, but it was clear from his smile that he understood, perfectly.

It was past 9:00 when they finished the meal. Within two blocks, Bodie realised that the prince wasn’t taking them to the ferry terminal. A few minutes more, and he had a strong suspicion that they were heading into the countryside up beyond the police station. The temptation to speak was strongest while they were in sight of the car park for the coastal walk, but he resisted and just stretched back and smiled.

Soon they had turned away from the coast, and were on a narrow, unlit road with the darkness of woodlands on either side. After about a mile the prince stopped the car, took something bulky (a hamper?) from the boot, and then led the way into the woods. The light was dim, and the pace slow.

“How d’you find this place?” It was Bodie’s first utterance in half an hour, and he found himself whispering.

“I was here yesterday.” Also a whisper, and rather breathless, thanks to the hamper. “There’s probably somewhere closer in. And maybe even better. But this is where I found, and it seemed right.”

Suddenly the woods ended and the ground dropped steeply away in front of them, so they were gazing down on mile after mile of gentle farmland. There were lights of houses, of villages, even, and the moons were bright enough tonight to show the patterns and textures of the fields.

“I was right. It does look just as good at night.”

“Was this why you came yesterday? Because of the view.”

“No, the view was a surprise. I was checking out the woods. Looking for somewhere we could use. Is this alright?” He was pointing to a patch of level ground between two trees, some ten feet from the start of the slope.

“Perfect.” Bodie knelt and felt for the catches of the hamper, then lifted out a rug, which felt very warm against the night air. Exploring the shadows at the bottom of the hamper, his hands encountered a chilled bottle, a towel, a box that rattled. He held the box up to the light. “Candles? You thought of everything.”

“Candle-sticks, too. I wasn’t sure how much light there’d be. D’you reckon we need them?”

Bodie gave the question some seconds’ thought. “No. Not tonight. Think I know what you look like, by now.” The two of them, naked in one another’s arms, under the blanket of the prince’s stars. They needed nothing else.

* * * * *

Afterwards, they both fell asleep. Bodie woke first, found the night sky very clear above him, and started his automatic search for the Big Dipper, Polaris, Orion…

No.

Never again.

A grunt from the prince, then a shifting of limbs and a sharper murmur. “What’s wrong? Bodie?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Go back to sleep.”

“Are you getting cold?”

“Uhuh. It’s a lovely night.”

“It is. Be too cold for this in another month. I thought we should make the most of it.” He rolled onto his back. “Oh, Notigi _is_ erupting. I couldn’t see it before.”

“Do your people see things in the stars? Pictures of people, animals, things like that?”

“Not really. Islands. Groups of islands. That’s how we see them. We’ve got stories about trade between them. Wars. Storms. Marriages. That’s the Ogulin archipelago up there. And over there’s the Adur. I couldn’t name you any islands.”

“Was this where you spent most of yesterday?”

“A few hours, yeah. Somewhere along here. After I went into the office to catch up with the paperwork.”

No wonder now that his account of the day before had sounded sparse, if most of it had been connected with this surprise. But Bodie _had_ wondered—even to the point of imagining Ray doing the rounds of those bars of his. And that wasn’t jealousy or a lack of trust but just his ignorance of Ray’s previous life. Work and bars in the city, and Gavio at home. That was all he knew.

“And today? You must’ve gone home to collect the hamper.”

“That’s right. Dropped in on Plassen. Did some work on the plants.”

“So you didn’t go to the Art Gallery after all. Or see those friends from college.”

“No. You’ve found me out.”

“Mmm. I like this version much better.” And they drifted into sleep again.

* * * * *

It was nearly 2:00 by the time they’d had enough sex, enough wine, and enough sleep, although they only discovered the time when they got back to the car.

“The next ferry’s at 3:00. Years since I got one of the night ferries. I didn’t think we’d be out here this long.”

“It’s still warm. We could go back. Spend the whole night.”

“Think we’d regret it. Next time, maybe.”

The night ferry was about a tenth of the size of the commuting ferry and moved at maybe half the speed. Which meant they’d be getting home around dawn. Not what you associated with married life.

“I still make you feel dangerous, Ray?” A drowsy question after a long silence. There wasn’t much to do on the night ferry apart from help keep one another upright on the thinly padded benches.

“Oh, yeah.”

“None of that settled feeling creeping in?”

“Never.”

* * * * *

They took the remaining day of the weekend very easy, not even leaving the flat. The only excitement was in the early evening: a call for Bodie from the team’s foreman, which came through while they were watching their second film from the fleet’s library. It was the prince who answered it, though they both knew it was probably for Bodie—Bodie would (if pressed) admit that he had a bit of a block around telephone etiquette, though of course it was just lack of practice.

~Yes, this is /?/ Bodie’s /?/. I’ll /?/ you now.~ The prince passed the control unit to Bodie, and the camera in the screen presumably tracked with it.

~Hello, Gras. How’s Agud’s ankle?~ The picture was no help at all for business calls like this. Great when it was Ray calling and he was hungry for the sight of him, but worse than useless if you weren’t in love with the caller. He’d much rather have taken the call as voice-only, but Ray said you had to be careful about that—not that it was automatically seen as rude but the rules were… more than Bodie could follow. Etiquette. Bloody etiquette.

~He’s /?/. He’ll be able to work tomorrow.~

Bodie nodded, unsurprised. ~I thought he would be.~

~You’re a good worker. We /?/ about /?/ Eseto, but we’re glad that we did.~

~Thank you.~ He’d already gathered that they didn’t have much experience with casual labour. It was a small firm—practically a family business. ~As I said yesterday, you can call me here if you need help again.~

~Yes. I will.~

~Good. Goodbye, Mister Gras.~ Not really “goodbye” but the formula for ending one of these calls.

~Goodbye, Mister Bodie.~ The screen returned to the film, where the same car chase was still underway.

“What’s that about more work?”

~We agreed that -~ After breaking off, Bodie sat blinking for several seconds. He’d been thinking in the language more and more, especially at work, but nothing like that had ever happened before. Must have been because he’d been concentrating so hard on the call. A good sign for the future—especially encouraging since progress recently had seemed so slow. And here was Ray grinning, amused and pleased. Bodie answered the grin, then continued. “Well, if they ever need another casual, we agreed that they’d call me first. And if I’m free—I mean, I’m not already booked to another job—then they’ll ask the agency for me by name and I’ll accept the work in the next posting.”

“That’s great.”

Bodie shrugged. “Don’t think much’ll come of it. Nice to be appreciated, though.”

“It’s just the start. Give it another month and they’ll all be fighting over you.”

“Yeah. Well, I’ve got this magic touch with rubble, you see.” He wiggled his eyebrows and basked in Ray’s laughter, in its clear notes of pride and (finally!) acceptance.


	14. Chapter 13

## Chapter 13

Over the next two months, Bodie’s supply of work was fairly steady. Almost all of it was on large sites—like the first one, or larger—and they generally took him on for a minimum of a week. There was one week in which he worked two full days and two half days, and on the other two days gave up on the postings by 12:00 and went home. But that was unusual.

They always travelled in together in the morning, whether Bodie had work lined up, or not. If there was work, they’d leave in time so that the prince could drive him to the site; if not, they’d get the prince’s usual 7:36, and Bodie would settle in a corner at the terminal to read and wait.

Waiting. His real speciality. As the weeks went by, he finished the book from the library, then a second, and then started on a third. The prince helped him select the books now, picking out those with straightforward, traditional plots, and a minimum of metaphor. Were they trash? The prince said not (or not really) but they felt like stake-out books to Bodie. Even so, every few pages he’d come across a sentence—even a paragraph—that simply didn’t make sense, not even when he’d got a translation for every word. I mean, what were you supposed to make of: “Pierce wore the duck, though Brak had long lost the sparkle to his scales.”? The duck? When did this duck enter the story? (Not a duck, of course, but it swam on the surface of ponds, and it ate fish.) And that turned out to be one of the easiest ones: a child would have understood it, providing the child’s bedtime storytellers had passed on the folk tale about the watchful duck and the magic trout.

Bodie learned quickly that it was not worth the effort of asking the prince for an explanation—of ducks or trout or anything else. He said he wanted to help, but four times out of five he’d run out of patience after a few sentences, and he wasn’t good at hiding his bafflement and frustration. ( _Why don’t you know this?_ ) And the other time out of the five, he’d get carried away with filling in the entire background for Bodie—the history, the geography, the other books, the nuances—and that was even worse, since it left Bodie with the feeling that there were layers and layers of meaning to absolutely everything, and maybe he wasn’t really understanding the rest of the book after all. So he stopped asking, and just gave a mental shrug over any surreal sentences, hoping they weren’t crucial to the plot. After a week of this, the prince commented in praise on Bodie’s recent self-sufficient reading, and Bodie did not disillusion him.

The language wasn’t a problem, though. There were no problems, not any more. Work wasn’t thrilling, but he knew what to expect now, how to deal with any doubts the foreman might have on his first day, and the hours passed quickly enough. The money, though, that _was_ a thrill, and one that revived with each week’s statements from the agencies. The biggest thrill of all was their bank account: dialling in and calling up all the transactions since he’d started work, and seeing his pay there next to Ray’s, and calculating their outgoings and knowing that he really was doing his share. The prince wasn’t rich. He earned twice what Bodie earned, but that still wasn’t rich. The knowledge was pure relief to Bodie—it made Ray… well, more human. Certainly less alien.

There were no hints about college. The prince’s questions about the site or the day’s work all seemed sincere, the type another labourer might ask, with no underlying hope that Bodie was about to recant. _”You were right, Ray. I’ve realised I can do better.”_ He even managed to be neutral in the way he commented on the effects the work had on Bodie’s body: the callused and scraped hands, the torn nails, the burrowing brick dust, the bruises, the hair clumped solid with paint or plaster. Not that he catalogued them like that—in fact, by now it was Bodie who kept the tally and mentioned anything new. _”Looks uncomfortable. I’ve got something in the bathroom that might help.”_ That was how he’d started: a casual concern with no trace of complaint. Perfectly judged. And the way he tended Bodie’s body was just as casual, just as perfect. It was a heroic tact, and it produced in Bodie an admiration beyond words.

They were both content during the sixty-odd hours of each week that they spent apart—and they _had_ worked it out, one evening early on—and both happy in the other hundred and fifty hours, with an immediacy to the happiness that felt like a daily rediscovery. Their hours together were quiet, and mostly spent in the flat or within walking distance of the village. In two months, there were no more than four or five prominent events: Bodie passed his driving test (easy, but they had no plans to get a second car); they appeared at the palace to mark the birth of another set of twins to Udom Kol and Embrun (a huge crowd, so pleased with the pair of them that they almost started to enjoy themselves); and for two At Oba Nyon running, they went up into the woods and stayed all night—it would have been many more than two, but the weather changed on them, and stayed changed.

* * * * *

So finally it was winter. The last month of the year and Bodie kept thinking about Christmas up ahead—and then remembering where he was, and wondering what the date was back on Earth. Labouring work got scarce. The storms started.

At first Bodie persisted with his system of going into the city to be ready for the later postings, but the persistence had stopped paying off and the ferry terminal had turned cold and damp, so he wised up soon enough and stayed home—and the later postings affirmed his decision by continuing to produce nothing at all.

It was to be expected, and it didn’t discourage him. He’d earned enough earlier to cover his share, even if he didn’t work again until spring. Give it another week and he knew he’d be getting bored and casting around for something for a proper winter occupation—ski instructor? outdoor survival? 101 things to do with a dead rabbit?—but for now he was enjoying being indoors with a pot of coffee and a stack of Dick Francis novels, while the raindrops bounced on the tiles of the balcony.

He’d read very little in English since he’d started work, especially compared with the journey from Earth. What had he been thinking, asking for an entire department of Foyles? He’d been thinking about a life of garden parties and ship launches and peacocks on the lawn, and a marriage in which he and his husband worked hard to tolerate each other. Such things had happened. Were still happening. But not to them.

Halfway through the stack of novels, he finally got around to writing to Cowley. Should have done it months ago. On board the ship, even. Cowley was probably worried sick about him, and having to keep it entirely to himself, of course. Maybe imagining him dead, or locked up in a tower somewhere.

It was a short letter, no more than a note. Some things Bodie didn’t want to say, and the other man wouldn’t want to hear. “Everything’s worked out very well, so if you’ve been worrying, there’s no need. It’s a nice planet, a lot like the west coast of Scotland to look at, but they’ve got the weather better trained. I’ve learned enough of the language to find work, and people are generally very friendly. I know we thought the worst at first, but there was no need. I don’t regret what happened. This is just to let you know I’m fine—I don’t expect you to write back.”

He definitely didn’t want to become pen-pals with Cowley. It would have been a chore in any situation, but here it was impossible, and he’d already reached the limit of what he could write about himself without mentioning Ray. With any luck, Cowley would think that he was living on his own, that “no need to think the worst” meant that he hadn’t had to sleep with the prince. That evening he gave the folded sheet to the prince, and the next evening heard that it was on its way.

* * * * *

There was one day midweek when a storm—which had been raging all night—kept the ferries from sailing, and the prince stayed at home. Bodie was pleased, excited even, to have this extra, unexpected day to themselves, but there was also an impersonal sense of indignation, which insisted on being heard.

“I don’t understand it. You can travel seven hundred light years in two months, but back home you’re stuck if the wind gets up. Why d’you put up with it?”

The prince laughed. “You should go into local politics. The Hagilan would sign you up like a shot.”

“But why? I mean, I might as well be back home. Why don’t you use the transporter, or something?”

“I can’t afford it. It’s a week’s wages.”

Bodie boggled. “Just for -?” He moved his hand in an arc.

“It’s the amount of energy it takes. It’s nosebleed numbers.”

“But when we go to the palace -”

“Then it’s the family paying. The family has different ideas about what’s expensive. Most people live their entire lives without going near a transporter.”

“Oh. I see.” And this knowledge was a relief, too. Everything had its price. Everybody had their budget. Bodie liked to know what the rules were—that there _were_ rules. Whether he felt any obligation to abide by them was another matter.

“A more suspicious man might think you were trying to get rid of me.”

“Yeah? What d’you think it would take to convince him that it’s just that I can’t believe my luck?”

“Well…” Giving the question solemn consideration. “You could suggest lowering all the blinds and going back to bed to wait out the storm. That might work.”

* * * * *

The next storm came in the late afternoon, with the prince over in the city. Bodie stood at the window and watched the 5:00 fight its way in to the jetty—and then stay there after 5:36 had been and gone and it was supposed to be on its way again.

The prince called a few minutes after six. He was in his car, parked in one of the streets near the ferry terminal. “It’ll lift soon. It has to. I’ll be on the first one out.”

“It doesn’t look too good from here. You’d be better checking into a hotel. Go on. Of course I wish you were here, but I’d rather think of you inside and comfortable than freezing in that car all evening.”

The prince closed his eyes and gave a groan of longing. “Oh, Bodie. Don’t. I want you even more now.”

“Go on, Ray. Check into that Musco Hotel. So I can imagine your room. Where you are.”

“OK. But if it does lift before midnight, then I’m coming home. And I’ll call. I’ll call as soon as I’ve checked in.”

* * * * *

The call came within half an hour. The prince was sitting on the end of the single bed. Bodie couldn’t see much of the room, but the decor seemed identical to the one they’d shared.

“Just as well I did what you told me. They were nearly full. Most people booked as soon as the storm started.”

“Must be used to getting stranded. What did you do before? When you were with Gavio?”

“Stay with friends, usually. Sometimes a hotel. But… it feels completely different now. It is completely different.”

“Yes.” There was a force pulling at them, urging them together. Bodie could feel it: an emptiness at the pit of his stomach, a tension across the miles between them. It was a longing between his legs too, of course, but that was almost a side-effect—the pit of his stomach was where the need lived. “What d’you think you’ll do this evening?”

A shrug. “Go and get something to eat. I’ve got my book. But I’ll probably just sit up here and think about you. What about you?”

“The same. The same. What’s your number there? I want to call you before I go to bed. God, it won’t last more than one night, will it?”

“I - It shouldn’t. Should be over by morning. But if it isn’t, I’ll take the transporter. I’d have to for myself, and I can see you need it even more.”

Worth a week’s wages. Easily. Did it make them pathetic, to need each other so much? Very likely, and Bodie wouldn’t have it any other way—and he would mourn when the passing years returned them to a measure of independence. “I need it. I don’t know about more. Have you got the number?” He recorded it in his ever-present notebook, and insisted on checking it twice before they finished the call.

* * * * *

In fact, he wanted to go to bed immediately. He wasn’t tired, but the hours of the evening stretched before him like a wasteland. There was nothing he wanted to do.

Best to copy Ray’s plans. Be with him in spirit. He got something to eat, then settled lengthways on the couch with a bottle of dark, aggressive wine (his winter favourite) and a P. D. James mystery (one of the “bestsellers” from his shopping list).

The pages turned, but he knew he was taking little in. When he closed his eyes, he could see that narrow bed, and Ray propped against the pillows, viewer in his lap. He imagined himself sitting on the side of the bed. No surprise from Ray at his presence, as if it was _their_ bedroom. As if any room they occupied together became forever _their_ bedroom. He took the viewer, placed it on the nearest table, and then they started to make love.

There was some arousal, of course there was, but this wasn’t how he wanted to come—too lonely. Self-control proved easy: the progression of images was vague and not completed, fading out while both of them were still in their trousers. He was saving himself for later.

* * * * *

With half an hour to go before their usual bedtime, he started getting ready for bed. He brushed his teeth and shaved while the bath was running, and then spent a quarter of an hour soaking and soaping and admiring the steady progress of his erection. His cock was simmering beautifully by the time he secured his robe and took his place on the couch. A few minutes’ experimentation in front of the camera, and he’d found a natural-looking position that would hide the state of his crotch from Ray’s view—until the time was right for the unveiling.

The number was a direct line to the prince’s room. He answered within seconds, and Bodie’s cock leapt at the sight of him: still dressed, and lying on the bed with the viewer to hand, exactly as Bodie had been imagining.

“Oh, Ray. Oh God, I’ve missed you. You look wonderful.”

The prince came up onto his knees, staring intently at the screen, expression almost pained. “And you look… You’ve just had a bath, haven’t you? You’ve got that pink look that always makes me want to fuck you where you stand.”

“I know. Take your shirt off, Ray. Take all your clothes off. Let me see you.”

The prince undressed slowly, keeping his eyes on the screen all the while. But he was not aroused, despite the obvious depth of his emotions. Bodie was taken aback—and rather dismayed—but the explanation soon came to him.

“And I thought you were the one with the iron will.” He was smiling indulgently. “Couldn’t stop at thinking about me, eh? How many times have you come? Looking at you, I’d guess three.”

An answering smile. “You must think I’m always prepared for the worst, too. Maybe I should after this. Have you sleep in your leathers and then carry them down to the car every morning. What did you think I had with me?”

“Oh, I dunno. Sure I can’t persuade you to a fourth?” And he lowered his right foot from the table at the same time as he opened his robe.

“Oh, Bodie!” Ardent delight—and a cock as limp as ever. Bodie gave a shrug of his eyebrows, decided very quickly that if it didn’t matter to Ray, then it didn’t matter to him, and took himself in a firm, two-handed grip that soon had him gasping.

“Ray. Oh, Ray. God, how I’ve been waiting for this. Oh, I love you. God, how I love you.”

“What are you using? Show me. Please.” Fervent, and too loud to be a true whisper.

“My hands. Just my hands. And the sight of you. Oh, Ray.”

“You know what I mean. Show me. And I thought you needed it fresh. Is it my shirt from yesterday? The cream one? Please. Let me see how you’re using it.”

Bodie stilled his hands, a real effort of will. “It’ll be in the laundry basket. I can get it if you want. D’you want me to come into it? Is that it?” Ray and his thing about clothes. Sometimes Bodie could see the appeal, and sometimes he couldn’t.

“Oh. So what are you using?” He was frowning now, and there was a different purpose in his gaze.

Bodie lifted his hands away from his groin, a gesture part shrug, part protestation of innocence.

“Is it on your hands? Can you rub it on your hands? Is that how it works for you?” Urgent, demanding—and puzzled to the point of worry.

“Ray. What’s wrong? I’ll use whatever you want me to use, but I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” Bodie was doing his best to be patient, despite the increasing ache in his groin. It was alright for Ray—he’d already drained himself dry. How did these people come to choose the worst possible time to show their lack of imagination?

“You -” The prince turned his head jerkily to the right, then back. His left hand drifted up. He looked thoroughly lost, and Bodie sat up, suddenly alert and feeling nothing for his husband but concern. “I -” Now to the left with the head, and the hand reaching out.

“Ray, what -” The screen went blank, or, rather, changed to the pattern of grays that went with an open line. They’d been cut off. “Oh, fuck it!” It must be the storm. Listen to it out there. A transmitter blown down, or something. He called the number again, and it seemed to be ringing normally, but there was no answer. A fault on the line. Must be. Bugger. Why did machines do this to you? How did they know?

He’d give it a few minutes and try again. Lower the storm blinds in the meantime. His erection had died, after an undignified struggle, and his groin was extremely unhappy with him. He promised to make up for it tomorrow, when Ray would be back no matter what the weather had in store.

No reply. Oh, damn. Damn and double-damn.

What should he do? Stay up and keep trying? Oh, come on, they weren’t going to send the repair team out in this. The line was going to be down until morning, at the very least. Face it. He had no way of getting in touch with Ray.

Well… stay up in case the storm died down, and get the night ferry? The chances were better, though still not good. Would they let him into the hotel, though, when he arrived at three or four? Would they agree to wake Ray up? Would Ray call him a thoughtless idiot and send him straight home?

Maybe it would be best just to go to bed. Try to sleep and leave Ray to sleep too, so that by tomorrow they’d be making perfect sense to one another, and wondering what the fuss was about. Their first night apart. He wouldn’t have predicted trouble, but now he thought about it, it wasn’t that surprising. It was a bit like going back to being betrothed again, and Ray had certainly had his strange moments then.

Bed. Sleep on it.

He found a T-shirt to sleep in, knowing that the bed was going to seem very cold tonight, then retrieved his Y-fronts from the laundry basket. Yes, there was Ray’s cream shirt. He pulled it out, turned it this way and that, sniffed it, then shoved it back. Nothing special about it that Bodie could see. It looked good on him, but what didn’t? They’d sort it out tomorrow. Laugh about it. Well… have a fuck first, probably, and then laugh.

The lights had been off for maybe five minutes when Bodie thought he heard the front door open. Normally, he would have been out of bed and listening at the bedroom door within seconds, but the storm was rattling and gusting enough to make anyone doubt.

Footsteps. Definitely. Time to think tactics. There was a light-switch for the hall just outside the bedroom door. Open the door and turn on the hall-lights immediately—enough advantage from surprise for him to evade a weapon, if there was one. His own steps to the door were soundless.

“Ray! Good God!”

“Bodie! I -”

Then they were in one another’s arms, holding tight, and tighter still, and then they were kissing. Bodie’s erection returned, was poking its way out of the Y-fronts within seconds, as if the blood hadn’t really bothered to disperse earlier. And now the prince’s cock was anything but limp. Still entwined, still kissing, they inched down the corridor to the bedroom, and then they fell onto the bed, tugged and tore at clothing until their cocks were touching, and raced headlong towards orgasm.

* * * * *

The prince was laughing. “I said to myself, ‘You’re over-reacting. You know you’re over-reacting. Sleep on it. Save the money.’ And of course I was over-reacting, but it was worth every unit.”

“Every unit. Wish I’d thought of it myself.”

“But then we’d have missed each other.” Now the laugh was a giggle, and Bodie joined in. When that was over, they kissed, aware of the passage of time only through the rhythms of the storm.

“Oh, it was bad, wasn’t it? No one ever warned me. I thought I could cope with one night—I mean, other couples seem to, don’t they? I thought it would only start to tell after a week or more. We must be _so_ married. Down to the bone-marrow.”

“Yeah, it was bad.”

“So what _were_ you using? D’you remember now? You never have told me what works best for you.”

“Well… wanting you. Needing you. And a bit of help from my hands. Or whatever else is on offer.”

A long silence. “And that’s enough? Your cock will fill with that? So that _is_ what happened tonight?”

“Um… Yeah. Why? D’you think I’d shoved something up my arse? Or watched some tapes. Don’t need any of that. Thinking about you’s more than enough.”

Another silence. “So if it had been you in the hotel tonight, just there with what you take in to work, you could’ve sat in the room and got an erection.”

“God, yeah. Can think about you anywhere.”

Slowly: “And you could’ve used that erection to have sex with someone else? In the room, or in his room. Or her room?”

Now it was Bodie’s turn to pause. “Well, I _could_ , but why on earth would I? You are still really shaken up, aren’t you? You weren’t sitting there all evening imagining me off with someone else, were you? Because that’s just…” He shook his head—small movements—over and over again, too staggered by the very idea even to be indignant. “Well, it’s just so stupid I can’t even think about it. You must have got a letter or something from the arsehole. It is the type of thing he’d try to do to you.”

There was no reply. Instead, the prince rolled onto his back, lay quietly for maybe half a minute, and then sat up and hunched over his raised knees, face hidden. It was dark in the room, anyway, and Bodie hadn’t seen the prince’s expression since they’d met in the hallway.

Bodie got to his knees, and edged over to his husband very cautiously. “Ray?” A whisper. No response, but no drawing away, either. He rested his hand on the bowed back, and that also was accepted. “I can’t imagine ever being unfaithful to you. I love you. Marrying you was the best thing that ever happened to me. You have to tell me what’s wrong. Why you’re thinking like this.”

Minutes passed. Bodie moved his hand in small, soothing circles, feeling the warmth through the layers of jacket and shirt, feeling spine and rib and banded muscle.

Suddenly the prince raised his head and turned to face Bodie. “I’ve got it.” He sounded recovered now, positively cheerful. “Of course there had to be some differences. You’re not actually qualified yet, are you? Not properly.”

Bodie exhaled noisily, shorthand for “Well, let me see…”. “Qualified for what? I can drive a car, pilot a plane, defuse six types of bomb -”

The prince’s laughter interrupted him. “Easy. Easy. Compared with having children.”

“Since when are you the expert?” Bodie have given up hope of following the thread of this conversation. Ray was recovering—Bodie’s job was to supply whatever help was needed. “Or have you got certificates up to Grade Eight? With Distinction.”

“I’ve got hundreds of certificates in here. Millions.” From what Bodie could see in the dimness, the prince was cupping his balls.

“Yeah, and they’re all wasted on you, aren’t they? Since those workmen turned up at the castle. So don’t bother boasting to me, mate.”

“OK, I won’t. But I promise I’ll let you boast as much as you like when _you_ qualify and _your_ body turns fertile.”

Bodie gave a snort of laughter. “In that case, I’m fully qualified, Ray. There’s a girl back on Earth who can vouch for that.”

Now the prince stiffened, pulled away from Bodie’s hand. “What do you mean?”

“I got her pregnant, what else? It was soon after I’d joined the Paras. Knew nothing about it until months after it was over. And that was through an accident.”

The prince was on his knees, facing Bodie with about two feet between them. “I don’t - You were married. You _are_ married. But - There’s no sign. How could you - How did you leave?”

“Of course I’m not married. Christ! She didn’t want to be married to me any more than I wanted to be married to her. She made damn sure I never had the chance to offer to do the decent thing.”

“Then how did she get pregnant? How come _she_ was fertile with _you_?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say. We fancied each other. We fucked. We weren’t as careful as we should have been. She got pregnant. Isn’t that how most of us start out? She got rid of it, and I wish she hadn’t had to, but I can’t say I’m sorry. But that was years ago. It’s got nothing to do with us.”

“And if -” Gasping breaths. “And if she had had the babies? Would it have happened _after_ , then? That that’s when your bodies get married?”

Bizarre way of putting it. “Well… I hope I’d have tried to make it work. Knowing her, though, she’d have kicked me out inside a year. But I’d be good with the maintenance. Any help I could give. Anyway, she found the right bloke soon enough. Had two kids last I heard.”

While Bodie was speaking, the prince had been utterly still. Then he started trembling: fine, whole-body tremors that Bodie felt through the bed, saw silhouetted against the light from the hallway.

After a second’s bewildered pause, Bodie leaned forward, reaching out. “Ray? Ray, what’s the -” He hadn’t even halved the distance when the prince backed away from him with a sharp cry, then made a lower sound, a moan, and scrambled from the bed, somehow managing to haul his trousers up in his flight to the nearest wall. There he turned and pressed himself against the surface, scrabbling with his fingers as he tried to claw his way through the plaster and brick, thudding at it with knees and forehead. And all the time he was crying out his dismay—in moans, and gasps like sobs, and words in his own language that had the tone of curse or prayer.

Bodie had rushed over, but then stopped when he was an arm’s length from the prince. Long seconds of indecision, and then he backed away. The edge of the bed hit him behind the knees, and he sat, abruptly.

What the hell was going on? They weren’t jealous people. He would have bet his life on the fact that they weren’t jealous people. Was it the abortion thing? No, it wasn’t something to be proud of, but he hadn’t even been involved in the decision. Surely Ray would have seen that.

Oh, God, poor Ray. He stood up, took a step forward, and then sank back down again. No. No, his comfort definitely wasn’t what Ray needed right now, and bugger how hard it was on himself to sit and watch Ray suffer. Was it some delayed reaction from them being apart? Must be. It wasn’t so different from how he’d got during the betrothal. God, why wasn’t Malun here to do his father routine? Bodie could actually see that working: Malun calming Ray down, having a mug of tea with them and they all laugh about it, and then tucking them into bed and letting himself out. Oh, God. Help.

Maybe it wouldn’t be needed. The prince seemed to be calming already. He’d stopped his assault on the wall and was just pressed to it now, palms flat on either side of his head. And the moans and sobs were nearly gone, the prayers changed to occasional muttered sentences which Bodie had no hope of understanding over the sounds of the storm. He seemed dazed. Exhausted. Almost disbelieving. Was he starting to be amazed by his own reaction? Give him another few minutes, and he’d raise his head, all blinking and yawning, and wanting nothing except his husband’s arms and sleep.

The minutes passed. There was no further change, and when the prince did finally lift his head and turn, there had been no warning for Bodie. When he moved, the dim light through the doorway had showed a daze that came near stupor—and then the shadows crowded in again. Bodie stood up, smiling in reassurance, and took a slow step forward.

~I - I can’t believe it yet. I can’t /?/.~ He seemed to be addressing the far corner, about a foot to the right of Bodie’s head. ~I can feel it… waiting. But I can’t /?/. I even know I’m /?/.~ His gaze moved jerkily past Bodie, and then back, and he stared, mouth open. ~Gagras. In my bed. In my blood. I can say it, but -~ Bodie heard him swallow. ~How can it /?/? It’s too /?/ even for Gagras. Married. I thought. But all the time I was fucking with an animal.~ A violent shudder which brought him thudding again into the wall.

“What!” No. No, he must have misheard. It wasn’t possible. “Ray, please. What’s -” But now he saw that the prince was convulsively wiping his hands, front and back—first against his thighs and then over and over against the wall. Then he was stumbling out of the room and along the corridor, dragging one hand along the wall and using the other arm to wipe hard at his face—again, over and over. And punctuating the movements, the sound of retch-deep spitting.

Bodie stood frozen to the spot, too stunned for anger. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. Slowly, as if moved by only a vague curiosity, he took the four steps towards the doorway. The prince was at the front door, his hands at the controls.

Instantly unfrozen, Bodie reached the end of the corridor while the prince still had one foot inside the flat. He dragged him into the living room using a bruising, two-armed grip around the heaving, screaming torso, and then threw him as far as he could across the room, wanting as much separation as possible before the fight started.

There was no fight. The prince got to his feet and Bodie dropped into stance, but the prince seemed to have sunk into that daze again. He shuffled backwards, away from Bodie, until he hit the doors to the balcony, and then he sank slowly to the floor, coming to rest in a kneeling position sideways on to the glass. This time he was silent.

The living room was dark apart from the light coming in from the hallway, and the balcony doors were just inside the reach of that light. Bodie moved out of the light, deeper into the room. He knelt a few feet from the kitchen, and as his eyes adjusted again he saw that the prince’s were closed. _Ray. Ray. What’s going on? When are you going to pull out of this?_ Say nothing. Just wait. All night if that was what Ray needed.

* * * * *

It had been an hour. Maybe two. Bodie was propped against the side of the kitchen counter, shivering slightly in his T-shirt and Y-fronts.

“Why? Why? Did you _have_ a reason? Or is my jerak all you need?”

“I don’t understand what you mean, Ray.”

“Of course you do. Oh, how you must have hated us on sight. Hated me most of all. And your people helping you do it. Sending you off with your reward. How can a whole species be… so… evil?” A pause, and his voice recovered enough to change the tone almost to impersonal curiosity. “Is it envy? Is that it? Did we make you so ashamed of being animals?”

Bodie’s tone showed no such control. “Ray. Ray. Don’t talk like this. You know you don’t mean it. You don’t know what you’re saying. It’s me. Bodie. It’s me. You’ll be back to normal by the morning. You don’t want to say any more when you’re like this.”

“Say any more? Now I’m jerakez?” A struggle for breath, then head thrown back for a ragged cry: ~Gagras, /?/ me. Tell me you don’t laugh at those you kill.~

“Don’t be so bloody stupid. I never laid a finger on you.” Bodie had surged forward, ready to slap the prince out of it, but something told him that he was now far too angry for that, and he slumped back, spine crunching against the counter. “Christ, your family might have warned me that you were this far over the edge. They must have seen this coming for years. You don’t even know, do you, what they did to get you safely married off, even to an ‘animal’ like me? Malun never told you that he had to threaten war on my planet. So don’t you get so fucking -”

With a raw cry of outrage, the prince was on his feet, and seconds later was coming at Bodie with one of the dining-chairs. Bodie dove across the carpet and upended the coffee table to use as a shield, but by that time the prince had already changed direction. The chair knocked the turntable and amplifier off the bookcase, then came crashing down on them. Next the records, cracking in volleys.

“No, you little -” Bodie had to defend his possessions. No question about it. He had to save those records even though there was no longer any way of playing them. He stalked up behind the prince, crouched and waited for his opening, then scythed at the exposed neck with the blade of his hand. The prince staggered, dropped the chair, and fell against the doors. Bodie threw the chair out of the way and started shoving his records under the shelter of the dining table, any sense of strategy long gone.

Far too soon, the prince was on his feet again, and ripping into Bodie’s books. Bodie tackled him to the floor, and now they were truly fighting, uttering wordless cries of pain and fury, and curses in English and Hass Embrun. Bodie had never in his life been angrier, but that seemed nothing to what was driving the prince, and Bodie was caught in mistake after mistake, each giving the prince another chance to try to crush his face in, or to further the advance towards the kitchen and its array of knives. Bodie had possibly five minutes left when the security guards burst in, and then the lights were full on, and he was breathing something that choked him, and they were being hauled apart.

* * * * *

The security guards didn’t want to know what had happened, beyond the bare fact that it was a domestic dispute rather than a break-in, and that neither side wanted to press charges—or that’s what Bodie thought he was being asked when he gave no as the answer. One of the three keyed some information into a pad, made a speech to the air between them in which the phrase “three hundred sala” was all that registered with Bodie, then handed each a printed card which also featured “three hundred sala”. Were they being fined? Was this the notice of the fine?

~Now, which of you is /?/?~

The prince stepped forward. ~Me. I’m /?/.~

The guard pointed towards the front door, insisting that the prince lead the way out, and a minute later Bodie was on his own.

He stood, staring at the door, for a long, long time. Come on. What was the punchline? What were they all waiting for before they set things back to normal? He was cold. He was tired. And Ray had work tomorrow, had to be up by 6:54. It was high-time they were in bed.

No. Alright. So he probably wasn’t coming back tonight. They’d probably given him a bed in a cell for the night. They’d make sure he’d calmed down—seen the funny side—before they let him go home. Home for breakfast. OK.

Better get the place sorted out before then. Wouldn’t help either of them to wake up to this wreckage. He assembled a rubbish carton—no, make it two—and started with the mess in front of the bookcase. There was pottery and soil and leaves mixed in with the broken plastic and twisted strips of metal and dangling electronic components. He hadn’t even noticed when it fell. He wondered if Ray had.

Handling the corpse of his stereo system brought a dull feeling of loss, not even sharp enough to be called a pang. His main feeling was sympathy for Ray, for the pain and for whatever illness had brought Ray to this. Even the punished state of his own body—a state whose extent became apparent as he proceeded with the clean-up—produced the same feeling of sympathy. Was that mad? More deranged even than Ray had been? Maybe later he’d care, but now he just wanted Ray back. He _could_ take care of him, he wanted to, so much, just as soon as he could find out what he was dealing with. They should have warned him. Christ, it wasn’t fair on either of them to keep it a secret. And they should have known by now that he wouldn’t let it make any difference.

The dining-chair was broken. There were deep gouges in the wood of the bookcase. Ray had only got to six books, all paperbacks, but they were ripped in half along their spines. Bodie pulled the dining-table a few inches away from the wall, slid the chair into the gap, and pushed the table back so that it held the chair upright and everything looked normal. At first glance.

He put the coffee-table back in place, then the armchair. Fortunately, there had been nothing on the table except his library book and a plant in a large, rectangular dish. The dish had survived, but the plant had to go in the carton. That was the last of the debris, so Bodie closed the cartons and lugged them out of the flat and onto the nearest disposal chute, a few doors down.

The carpet needed the vacuum cleaner to get rid of those patches of soil. Bodie checked the time—God, nearly four!—then realised that no one was going to hear the vacuum over the noise of the storm. He surveyed the room from the doorway before turning off the lights, and nodded to himself, pleased with his work. You wouldn’t know that anything had happened.

He had been yawning hugely and uncontrollably for the last half hour but he knew that he must have a bath first—a long, hot soak—or he would definitely have locked solid by morning. And afterwards one of Ray’s rubdowns. Oh. No. Well, at breakfast then. Or in the evening if Ray went straight to work.

Strange how calm he felt. Upset to the point of queasiness, but still incredibly calm considering what had happened. Maybe it helped that he had next to no idea what was going on. Hard for your brain to race around with worry when it was running on empty. Of course, he was worried for Ray. Were they treating him properly? Had they got him a doctor? Something for that black eye? Poor Ray. He’d be the one needing the first rubdown.

Bodie fell asleep in the bath and it was gone five by the time he finally got to bed, dressed properly for warmth this time in their equivalent of a tracksuit. The bedroom still smelt of sex.

* * * * *

The alarm went off at 6:00, Bodie’s call to the day’s first postings. Well trained, he actually had his feet on the floor before the complaints from his muscles had brought him fully up-to-date. The other side of the bed was empty. So Ray hadn’t let himself in while Bodie was asleep.

Well, he wasn’t looking for work today. God, no. Maybe better forget about it for a week or more—not that there would be anything on offer, anyway. And if Ray was aching anything like this, then he’d have to take the day off, too. So what time would he turn up? 7:36 felt right, and Bodie reset the alarm for 7:00 and lay down again.

* * * * *

It was 10:48 when Bodie woke enough to raise his head and check the time, and he was never sure if he had slept through the alarm, or just hadn’t set it properly. The storm was over, and narrow shafts of sunlight were coming through chinks in the storm-blinds.

“Oh, fuck!” It had all come back the instant he’d focused on the clock, and in the next second he was hobbling down the hallway to the living room, knowing that Ray must be sitting in there, waiting for him.

But no, and Bodie’s guts felt a depth-charge of real fear: ice oiled with acid.

Oh, come on. He’d gone to work, that’s all. The ferries must be running now, from what he could tell of the weather. He raised the storm-blinds behind the balcony doors, blinked for some seconds in the brilliant light, and there was the 10:00 from the city, just starting the turn into the jetty. So. Ray had gone to work.

He raised the other blinds and opened the doors to the balcony. Definitely the day after a winter storm: huge, deep-blue sky with just a few white clouds, but a strong, chill wind hurrying those clouds along. Perfect weather for airing a room. He left the doors open while he made coffee, but by then he was shivering again and he shut them before he started on his toast.

Ray. Where are you? Call. Please call. Don’t do this to me.

He was in the kitchen cutting the bread for his second round of toast when the buzzer sounded at the door. God, poor Ray, ringing rather than letting himself in. He must have been spending all these hours getting his courage up. Bodie nearly tripped over in his rush to get to the door.

“Ray! Oh, my -” It was Malun. “Where is he?” Bodie’s smile lost its initial incandescent delight, but remained in place during the survey of the corridor outside the flat, and even after that its fade to puzzlement was slow. “He doesn’t have to stay away. I’m not angry. But I’m… I have to know he’s alright.”

“That makes two of us. Let me inside. You have to tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t know. He just… erupted. It was… Why? What did he say to you? Did you meet him at his work? What’s happened when he’s done this before?” Bodie was walking backwards into the living room.

“Before? I got a message from him. Sit down, Bodie.” Malun headed for the armchair, directed Bodie towards the couch.

“When? What did he say?”

“He sent it five hours ago. I found it when I got back from lunch. I came as soon as I could.”

“So what did he say?”

A long, open-mouthed pause. “He said…” Malun swallowed. “He said I must contact the fleet’s anthropologists immediately, and tell them that humans aren’t a… isidrol species.” The look he was directing at Bodie was part accusation, part pleading.

Bodie shrugged. “If he says so. Dunno what… ‘isidrol’…? means, but I’ll take his word for it.”

“You must know. It’s the opposite of glarus.”

Another shrug. “You’ve got me again. Is it something to do with sex? We’re certainly more jealous than you are. More persistent.”

“It’s…” A pause. “I think you should tell me what happened. I can see from the state of your face that _something_ happened.”

God, where to start? “Well… I don’t _know_ , but I think - There was a storm here last night. The ferries stopped running and - I was here. I wasn’t working yesterday. So he was stranded in the city and I told him to check into a hotel, and we were both - Well, it was the first time we’d had to spend a night apart. I promised I’d call him before I went to bed, and I was missing him all evening and I decided we’d - This can’t be the sort of thing you need to hear.”

“It is. I’m afraid it is.” And he clearly was afraid.

“Well…” He sighed, noisily. “I don’t know what you call it, but on Earth we call it ‘phone sex. And at first he seemed to like it. I could see he wasn’t… in really the right mood, but he was pleased that I was. Until he started asking… ‘what was I using?’ He kept on about it. About some shirt of his. I mean, d’you know what that was about? Is it something he’s… known for, in the family?”

“Let me be clear on this. You were here while he was in a hotel room in the city, and you were sexually aroused?”

Bodie blushed, but nodded. “Yeah, and then he started going on about _that_. Me being here and him there. And then of course the bloody phone went dead -” He broke off and raised a hand to his forehead. “Or did he hang up on me? Shit! But why on earth should - ‘What are you using?’ What the fuck does it mean?”

“It means…” Malun swallowed and closed his eyes tight for several seconds. “It means that he wanted to know where you were getting his mana from. How you had fooled your body into thinking that he was there. And I can tell from your expression that you think I’ve gone mad.”

“My body knew perfectly bloody well he wasn’t there. It was desperate for a wank all evening. But I held off until it was time to call him. Which was more than he’d managed by the state of him. Limp as a dishcloth! He’s got a bloody cheek.”

“You think he’d masturbated before you called. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Well, he must have done, mustn’t he? We’re  Christ, we just have to look at each other and we’re - He must’ve done. But he didn’t tell you that, did he? Am I supposed to have _known_ what he was doing? And when. Was he upset that I hadn’t got to the same state by the time I called?”

Instead of replying, Malun hauled himself from the chair and walked unsteadily to the balcony doors, where he stood with one palm pressed to the glass, staring out. Bodie sighed, then rubbed his hands hard over his face—and the encounter with bruises and stubble brought him more alertness than he’d really wanted. His mug of coffee was at the other end of the table and he leaned over to fetch it. Cold. What was left in the pot wasn’t much warmer, but he poured it out to the last drop, then slumped back in his seat. Malun hadn’t moved. Bodie sighed again, turned his head to the side, and closed his eyes.

* * * * *

“I’m not sure where to start. I never imagined I’d be - It might still be just a small difference. How else could Ray’s progression be so normal? Though when it was _so_ quick…” Malun’s approach had been soundless. He was standing behind the armchair, his hands clasped together on its back. “I suppose…” A deep breath. “When your people marry, what sort of changes happen in your body’s chemistry? I don’t need the details. But what are the effects?”

“Eh? Nothing happens. Why on earth should it? You’re only saying some words. Signing a piece of paper. Are you saying your people take drugs? Oh! Burning the gloves. There was something in the gloves?”

“No. No. Not the gloves. Bodie, we’re an isidrol species. That means that when we marry - No.” He raised one hand in a gesture of self-correction and when he spoke again it was very slowly and deliberately. “By the time our people go through the marriage ceremony, they are both addicted to one another’s body chemistry.”

“Uh?” An involuntary, unvoiced grunt.

“Permanently addicted. They have to stay together for the rest of their lives. If they’re separated they become…” He swallowed, then licked his lips. “… very ill. Very ill. And each one can only become sexually aroused if the other is present. Or if they have something with the other’s mana—from sweat or saliva or…”

“Fuck! You mean you’re like swans?”

“Swans? They’re the white water-birds, aren’t they? I don’t see the connection.”

“Well, they mate for life. Supposed to. That _is_ what you’re saying?”

“Yes.” But Malun seemed distracted now. “Birds?” He shook his head as if trying to shake a thought clear. “Are they very intelligent? We were positive humans were the only… How long do their children take to mature?”

Bodie shrugged. “I dunno. A few months. They’re birds, for God’s sake.”

“You must be wrong. They can’t be isidrol. Isidro occurs in intelligent species whose children take many years to raise. How could it promote the survival of your swans’ offspring? You never find isidro in animals. The strength increases directly with intelligence. With the length of the childhood.”

So where did that leave Bodie? Had they been lying to him about swans all his life? Or were he and Malun still not talking about the same thing? He stared up at Malun, frowning slightly, with no idea what he was supposed to say to all of this.

“How does it work, then, with humans? It’s not body chemistry, so what is it? What keeps parents together while the children are growing up? What ensures that children are only born to a permanent pairing?”

Bodie had to laugh. “Where _were_ you brought up? They leave it to the nanny to explain the facts of life? ‘Mummy, mummy, how does your body know you’re married so you can start having children?’” He’d come across more than one Sloane girl who said she’d honestly asked that question. “Well, we were poor, mate. We had to grow up just that bit earlier.”

Malun’s jaw clenched. “Right. Down to basics. With your people, could one parent leave the other parent and all the children, go somewhere else completely, forever, and still function? Maybe even have other children with someone else?” Though he obviously thought the last idea was in the realms of fantasy.

“Yeah. Of course. Happens more often than not, these days.”

Malun stared at him, very pale, then sagged forward across the back of the chair. With anyone else, Bodie would have called it a faint, but this was Malun. The king. The boss. And whatever it was, it was over in a few seconds, and the man was feeling his way around the side of the chair and slumping into it. Not looking well, it had to be said.

~Ray. /?/ Ray.~ A whisper, addressed to the far end of coffee table. ~It’s my /?/. All my /?/. I’m sorry. My /?/.~ He closed his eyes and lowered his head to his chest, and it seemed clear that he was going to stay like that for a very long time.

This left Bodie with nothing to do but think. Not easy, since his brain was still firing off its instant responses. It was what he’d been trained for: being dropped into the full flood of chaos, and being able to take the actions—instant by instant—that would keep him on top, keep him afloat, and let the enemy know that its defeat had arrived. Mature reflection was a good thing. A great thing. He wouldn’t knock it. But survival came first. It had to.

He needed a mug of tea now. Real tea. Tea let you know the crisis was over. It reset those circuits in your brain. Told you it was safe to start thinking. But if he got up and went to the kitchen, Malun would probably start in again. Forget it. So instead he told his taste-buds to remember the feel of PG Tips. Really hot—just short of scalding. And the exact amount of milk.

It started working.

* * * * *

“Malun.” His tone was low and reasonable, an accurate reflection of his feelings. “I know I’ve been very slow to realise what’s happening here, but I don’t see why it has to be a problem. I love Ray. I knew when I married him that it was for life. Nothing’s changed as far as I’m concerned. Where is he? When’s he going to come back? He’s not going to stay away until he gets ill, is he? Please call him. Tell him to come back now.”

Malun’s gaze was troubled. There was a long silence before he spoke, and he accompanied his words with a slow, slow shaking of the head. ~A glarus. A glarus that Raina’s child has married. And I feel /?/ for it.~

“It?” The tendons had leapt out like ropes in Bodie’s neck. “I’m not a fucking ‘it’.”

Malun hadn’t even blinked. “According to everything we believe, yes, you are. To us, you’re an animal. You’re the enemy.” The upraised palm went with the bark of command: “Hear me out, Bodie!”

The boss. Despite himself, Bodie swallowed his snarl and backed off even to the extent of sitting down, though on the edge of the seat.

“It’s got nothing to do with what I know of you personally. Of your people. I like you. Your people are obviously as intelligent as we are. But all of my instincts are screaming at me that you’re glarus so you have to be an animal. Your… biology is a direct threat to everything that we count as civilisation, everything that we need to trust. We’ve… had your kind before, and for most of our history we’d hunt them down and stone them to death.” Bodie jerked in reaction and closed his eyes hard, remembering the fight, remembering Ray’s relentless sense of purpose. “You’ve seen Gagras, haven’t you, in the palace? The mask that’s always broken?”

Bodie nodded.

“Well, for most of our known history, that mask was made from what was left of the skulls of people like you. Because Gagras _is_ a glarus. And I don’t tell you that to frighten you—those were times that horrify us now, too—but to show you how old and deep this fear is. Now we know it’s a mutation. Or sometimes a disease. And we have screenings for the forms we know about. We mark any we find, so that normal people are protected from them. And with the few that slip through—and it’s probably only one or two in a generation—we’re more tolerant now. We know it’s not their fault. But… Finding out that you’ve married a glarus. It’s one of the worst things we can imagine. That your partner _could_ have sex with someone else. With anyone else. _Could_ leave you—and you’d be lost to the addiction while they felt nothing. Nothing at all. To think that you were properly married and then find out… Anyone who hears about you will feel… _such_ pity for Ray. And think… that in his situation they’d probably kill themselves.”

“No! No!” Bodie’s fingers dug into Malun’s arm, first shaking him, and then dragging him to his feet. “Where is he? Where is he?”

“Bodie! Stop it!” The command tone again, but Bodie’s priorities were different this time. He kept the grip and bared his teeth, breath rasping in Malun’s face as he waited for his answer. “Bodie.” Astonishingly calm. The resemblance to his twin was now clear. “I don’t know where he is. But he won’t do that. He made it clear he won’t do that. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m sorry. I was trying to explain so that you can understand why he’s… doing what he’s doing.”

The grimace was pain now, not threat, but Bodie’s voice was flat. “And what is he doing? He wants me dead, doesn’t he?”

“He wants you… erased. He told me to send you back to Earth. He told me to tell you that he’s cleared out the bank account. That he’s selling the apartment and you must move out before the weekend. That he will destroy anything that you leave behind.”

Bodie stood there, dumb, shaking his head in denial. The motion continued while Malun extricated his arm, and then gently steered Bodie backwards and persuaded him down onto the couch. ~You /?/. Anyone would think that you were the /?/.~ Rueful sympathy. A light touch on Bodie’s hair, his upper arm, his wrist.

After a while, Malun stepped away from the couch. Bodie was dimly aware of him standing a few feet away, outside the range of vision, and could not have said how long it was before he suddenly went to the kitchen. A succession of quiet noises, and then a hot mug was being placed in Bodie’s hands. It was tea. With milk.

“What do you want to do, Bodie?” Malun was sitting in the armchair, a mug resting on his knee.

It was nearly a minute before Bodie raised his head and more seconds before he gave his reply. “Carry on the way we were. Anything he needs me to prove to him, I’ll do. I won’t let it make any difference to him.”

“It’s… I don’t think he’ll ever believe you. No matter how much you want it to be true. We -” He sighed. “We no longer think of glarus as the embodiment of evil. We think that you can’t help what you do. Probably you even truly want to be isidrol, but your biology won’t let you. ‘A promise from a glarus’—it means something that’s completely worthless.”

“And I’m supposed to be impressed that you’ve all brainwashed yourselves? Maybe _your glarus_ just conveniently apologise and pack their bags when their husbands get a fit of the horrors, but not me. He wanted me, he’s fucking got me. Anyway, I know the way his temper works. He’ll be back soon enough.”

“So do I. I wish I could encourage you. But I know the strength of his will. If I were offering advice as a friend… I’d tell you to go back to Earth. Go back to your place among your own kind.”

“Then you’d better order the tranquilliser darts and the fifteen security guards, because that’s the only way you’re getting me on that ship.”

A twitch of the mouth. “Of course I can’t force you. And speaking as Ray’s uncle, then this is what I want to hear. If there’s any chance that he’d… Then you should be here. Do you have anywhere you can go? Are there friends you want to stay with?”

Bodie hadn’t thought that far ahead. “No. I - God, I don’t even have money for rent. And with work how it’s been… Maybe there’s something I could sell. But I -” He was in deep, deep shit.

Quickly: “You’re family, Bodie. We’ll give you anything you need. You can go anywhere you like. But what I thought when I first read Ray’s message was… Look, why don’t you stay at Clover for a while? Give yourself some time to think things through. I called Ferros and said you might need somewhere to stay for a few days and -”

“What did you tell her?”

“That the two of you were having an argument. Which would never be a surprise to anyone who’s lived with Ray.”

“And now you know, are you going to tell her the truth? She’s not going to want a glarus in the house, is she? Think of the effect on the kids.”

“I’ll leave it up to you what I tell her. But I think you know better of her than that. Anyway, after you’ve been there without Ray for a week and you haven’t gone into gimana, it’ll be obvious to everyone that you’re not isidrol.” An abrupt shift to a real bitterness: “And I don’t think you could fake gimana well enough to fool anyone in that house.”

Disconcerted, Bodie studied Malun carefully, and then found himself running a mental roll-call of everyone in the house. “Your sister. His mother. You’re saying it happened to her?”

“In that Savas died prematurely. Yes. But not in your way.”

“Oh. Oh, Christ. So Ray’s going to get like that? You’ve got to talk to him. You’ve got to make him come back. It’ll kill him, won’t it? I’ve heard you all sitting around wishing she’d hurry up and die.” He winced as soon as it was out. Not the way to talk about this man’s twin. He knew he wasn’t family enough to have earned the right to speak like that.

“No. It won’t kill him, because he’s going to take the drugs. That’s what he said. Raina won’t take the drugs. Many don’t, if it was a good marriage. The idea of a shot of chemicals acting as a substitute… Obscene. That’s what she calls it.”

“Well, couldn’t we tell people that I’m taking the drugs? That that’s why I seem OK?”

Malun was shaking his head. “You would not be ‘OK’ on the drugs. They make the discomfort manageable. That’s all. I’ll be surprised if Ray will be able to carry on working. Not at the same level.”

“What if we… I don’t know… gave him my chemicals instead of the drugs? He wouldn’t have to see me. We’d just send him my shirts or whatever. Would that be better? Would he be able to work then?”

For the first time, Malun showed signs of optimism. Cautious optimism. “Yes, then he _would_ be OK. That is usually what’s done when people without children have to separate. He’d even be able to have sex. But… I don’t know how long it would take him to accept it. You can see that? For the moment, he wants you -”

“Gone. Yeah. I get the picture.” Still, Bodie felt that the battle was nearly won. He’d found something practical that he could for Ray. And it wouldn’t be long before Ray would want more of him that his shirts—they were both going to be so lonely—and would breeze in one day as if nothing had happened. “OK, I’ll come to the house. Thanks. When will they be ready for me?”

“How long do you need to pack?”

“An hour? We’ve still got the cartons here from last time.”

“Then why don’t you come back with me? I cancelled everything for the rest of the day.”

* * * * *

Malun helped with the packing, which gave Bodie the occasional boggle along the lines of: “This is their king, and he’s lugging my trashy novels around.” Was Malun a friend? Really a friend? Of course, he’d always put his nephew first, but was this help anything more than family duty? Bodie was far from sure that he had any friends on this planet, or not as he understood the term.

Bodie packed his clothes on his own, which also involved a quick shower, and getting dressed properly. He couldn’t turn up at that house barefoot and in a tracksuit. He decided to take everything, including the clothes that Ray had claimed, and not even leaving the leathers as a first peace offering. He packed the bedclothes too, not wanting to give Ray the chance to destroy them, to work himself up even further—and the fact that he’d taken them should tell Ray how much he valued them, that he knew that they’d be needed again.

By the time he was finished and back in the living room, Malun had reached the records. “Where’s your turntable? That’s what it’s called, isn’t it? I thought you’d have it here.”

“It got broken.” Bodie had tried for a casual tone, but failed.

“Last night? You never did finish telling me what happened. Though I can guess from your bruises.”

“Dunno that it matters now, but… Well, after our call was cut off—or that’s what I thought—he came straight over, got the transporter, and we -” He exhaled loudly. “But he still kept asking me what I’d been using, and then all these other questions. Can’t really remember how it went now. Was I qualified to have children? That sort of thing. Then when I told him that, qualified or not, I’d managed to get a girl pregnant -” A gasp from Malun, and Bodie paused before continuing. “Well, then he lost it completely, and we got into a fight. All I could think was… he’d gone insane.”

“And then he left? What time was this? What did he say?”

“Security broke in -” Or did they? Now he thought about it, he must have left the door open when he dragged Ray back inside. “- and they broke us up and he left with them. It was about two, I suppose. And I just thought they’d keep him overnight and he’d be back here first thing. So where is he?”

“I don’t know. He’s not at work—or they say he’s not. He sent the message from a public booth in Dishna. I think he’s gone into hiding.”

Like Gavio after he’d moved out of the flat. “But you can find him, can’t you? I mean, you’re the king, for God’s sake.”

“That doesn’t mean what you seem to think it does. The police are the only ones who are allowed to track him down. And if he refuses, then all they can tell us is whether or not he’s alive. They won’t even pass on a message.”

“Oh, shit! How are we going to get my shirts to him?”

Malun shrugged and gestured at the coffee table. “I’ve left him a note. Told him you’ll be staying at Clover, that you want to send him your mana. We just have to hope he comes back to do his own packing.”

“Oh, God, _Raa-ay_!” An admonishment addressed to the ceiling. When he looked down again, he found Malun regarding him with a puzzled frown, but when he raised an eyebrow in question, the other just shook his head and continued with the packing.

All that remained to be packed was the coffee and tea and a few other things from the kitchen. Bodie collected the pot and mugs from the coffee-table, rediscovering his library book in the process. Better take that back now.

“I’ve got a book out from the library. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Malun just nodded.

The building was quiet, and the library nearly empty, but he still gathered his share of curious stares. Was it just the bruises, the way he was walking? Or did the whole building know what had happened during the night? Were their names posted on a noticeboard? The librarian—the father—was there, but he didn’t appear to notice Bodie, so at least Bodie got back to the flat without having to speak to anyone.

Malun had washed up, and packed the human food that they’d kept out on the counter. Bodie delved in cupboards for the stored tea and coffee, the bottles of scotch and beer, and the chocolate. That was it. Malun wrote the note for Ray to find, and then they were ready.

* * * * *

The transporter operation took two stages: first from the flat to a pad in a large transporter room (onboard a ship, by the look and smell); and then to the forecourt of the house. The luggage, as usual, would follow later.

There was no welcoming-party this time. Malun rang the doorbell. Didn’t he know the code? Or didn’t he want to spring a glarus on them unannounced?

It was warmer here than at home. As they waited, Bodie looked around, finding the woods and the river much as before. Maybe they didn’t even get winter storms here. God. If he and Ray had been living up here, maybe none of this would have happened.

He stopped his survey at the sound of the door opening. Lamon was there, looking very surprised. ~/?/ Malun. And - Where’s Ray?~

~He’s not here. Didn’t Ferros tell you we might be /?/?~

A shake of the head, wary eyes on Bodie. ~I think she’s in the /?/. I’ve just got back from /?/.~

~Bodie’s going to be staying here. For a /?/.~

~Why?~ Not a question—an adolescent’s protest. Bodie found it positively refreshing to meet a hostility that worked in a way he could understand. She just didn’t like him, and it had nothing to do with his biology. He grinned at her, and grinned harder when she flinched.

~He and Ray are having a /?/. They need some /?/.~

~What’s he done?~ “He” obviously meaning Bodie. Bodie was getting fonder of her by the second.

~Nothing.~ Malun took a step forward, forcing Lamon to move back. ~Ferros is in the /?/, you said.~ He turned to the left, ignoring his niece, and Bodie followed.

Ferros was in one of the offices in the rear section of the house. She had obviously been concentrating hard on something. Arrangements for the house? Or did she actually have a job?

~So you have /?/.~ She checked the time. ~That was quick. Ray hasn’t /?/ yet?~

~No.~

Now she looked at Bodie, and her eyes widened. ~That’s a /?/, even for Ray. I hope you /?/ him.~

“It was a two-way fight. If that’s what you said.”

“So what happened? How’s he acting now?”

Bodie sighed and turned to Malun. “You explain. And you needn’t bother to use English.”

Five sentences in, and Ferros turned pale, and started clutching at the arms of her chair and uttering gasping exclamations. There was one long, searching look at Bodie, which she ended with an abrupt jerk of her head.

After the explanation was over, there was silence. Finally Ferros raised her head. The words she addressed to Bodie were cold. “Why did you do it? Why did you let him become married to you? Did you hope you’d change? That you’d become isidrol?”

Bodie struggled to keep his temper. “You’re great ones for leaving these gaps in the family’s history, aren’t you? Or do you always make your proposals of marriage by threatening war on the other person’s planet? How’d you get Homa? Threaten to bomb his house?”

“What are you talking about?” This was Malun, sounding genuinely puzzled. “Are you saying Ray threatened your planet? That’s insane.”

Bodie gave a bark of laughter. “Yes, that’s what _I_ said when Cowley told me that the alien king wanted me to marry his son. And that if I refused, they’d go straight home, leaving a trail of arrows pointing right at Earth, saying, ‘Nice juicy helpless planet right this way, lads. Happy pillaging.’ But obviously it was just an ordinary day to you. No reason you should remember it.”

Another silence, only this time the two aliens were both staring at him. After about a minute, Malun said slowly, “You really believe this.”

“Of course I do.”

“But… that would be insane. Why would we do anything like that? Force you to marry Ray? You _can’t_ force a marriage. It’s biologically impossible.”

“Your biology, not mine. We thought it was court politics. That you were trying to cut him out of the succession. Or something.”

Ferros now: “But there is no court. There is no succession.”

“How were we supposed to know that at the time? It was the only thing that made sense.”

“So when did Ray say this to you?”

“It wasn’t _him_ , it was _you_. It was what you said to the Prime Minister. And then to Cowley.”

Malun blinked hard, and looked as if he was genuinely trying to remember. “I - No, I don’t see how they could have misunderstood that badly. And they were surprised, but more pleased than frightened. _She_ said she’d formed the impression that we were going to put the base in America. Which was never likely because we don’t like continents.”

“So what do _you_ think you said?”

“That our tests showed that you and Ray were in utera. Around the third stage of russma. And that we were willing - No, I probably said eager. That we were eager for the russma to proceed. And that the russma was particularly welcome to us as we’d decided to put our base in Britain. And I explained about the betrothal, because I knew it wasn’t your custom.”

Bodie was beginning to get a bad, bad feeling about what had happened, but he had no intention of sharing his suspicions. “They must have misunderstood. They’re politicians—you can’t go by their reactions.” To think he’d even gone to the effort of writing to Cowley, of reassuring him. Hah!

“So that was why you married my brother. To protect your planet. And you thought we were punishing him.”

“Or keeping him safe. Could have been either. Yes. At first. But I liked him immediately. When I’d never even seen his face. And by the time we were actually married… Well, there was nothing I wanted more.” He turned to Malun, and a note of pleading entered his voice. “It was working so well. We’re made for each other. You said it, his mother said it. For God’s sake, if I can get over the way it started for me—and it only took a few days—I can’t see why it’ll take him long to get over this.”

Malun’s expression was not encouraging, but Bodie carried on studying it, looking for any kind of reprieve, until Ferros spoke again. “Does Ray know that you didn’t accept willingly? Did you tell him after the wedding? He’d have thought by then that it was fixed for both of you, anyway.”

“No.” Then Bodie’s certainty faltered. “Uh… Well, he - he does now. After last night. He asked me why I’d done it. And I told him. He was… a bit upset.” Now he was surprised that Ray had actually taken it in—much less believed him, given the little he remembered saying. Maybe it was more his tone that Ray had been reacting to—the sneer that Ray would expect of a glarus.

The two aliens sighed in unison, and Malun sank into the nearest chair.

“I’m sorry.” And he was. He would have changed his biology to theirs in a second if the chance had been offered.

“I know. We all are.” Malun. “But how long is it going to take him to come back? After that. He’ll think there’s nothing to come back to.”

“Only if he’s forgotten everything that’s happened between us. I mean, doesn’t it say even more about the two of us that it still worked after that? Can’t you explain it to him?”

Malun did not seem to have been listening. “Should I have guessed at the beginning? But I thought you were angry with your own biology for matching you—and so strongly—with one of us. For taking you away from your home. I thought it was the changes in your hormones.”

Hormones. So that was why Ray had gone manic once in a while at the beginning. _“Written in every cell of my body.”_ He’d been talking literally, or as good as. Bodie had a feeling he was going to be spending most of his time in this house remembering things that Ray had said and done—and realising how close they’d been all along to this disaster. And did this mean that all of Ray’s fervent phrases were literal? Sweet nothings murmured to a chemical addiction? Ray never had used the word “love”.

~We can’t tell her. She mustn’t know.~ Ferros was grim.

~Of course not. Do you want to /?/ Lamon or shall I?~

~I will. But I’ll call you if I think she needs /?/.~ She glanced up at Bodie, who was still standing near the door. “And that means that Ward mustn’t know, either. He’d find some way of telling her. Or dropping hints to make her ask.”

“Yes. I think he would.” A pause. “But when he hears that the masks have been separated - We have to, Ferros. You know we have to. I’ll arrange it as soon as I get back to Monor. And when we change the reports on humans to say that they’re glarus - And I’ll have to inform the base of that immediately. Then he _will_ know.” And so would anyone else who did their research. Their friends back in Parass. Plassen, for instance. Thank God Ray had never told his colleagues.

“Then we make sure he doesn’t see her. That’s all.”

“It’ll have to be enough. Have you thought about rooms for Bodie?”

“He can stay anywhere he wants. What would you like? Anywhere you saw last time?”

The front of the house was out of the question. He could never be comfortable in one of those rooms, and at the moment what he wanted more than anything was a monk’s cell. A place to think about Ray, to will Ray to come back to him. Ray’s old bedroom was spartan enough, but it just wouldn’t be right. Somewhere close to it, though?

“Is there somewhere at the back of the house, on the far side of the river?”

“Of course. I’ll take you over now so you can choose. I suppose your luggage is still on its way?” Ferros was getting to her feet.

Bodie nodded. “Where can I get food? Malun, could you lend me twenty sala so I can go into the village and get some food?”

“He’ll lend you whatever you need.” Malun was opening his wallet in swift confirmation of Ferros’s statement. “But the kitchen’s stocked full. And we got out another oba obed for tonight when Malun told us you might be coming.”

“You won’t want me around.” Very definite. “Unless it’s to know where I am when you get the urge to stone me to death.”

Ferros seemed more amused than anything. She tilted her head to the side. “What _has_ Malun been telling you?”

“He made it very clear how you feel about glarus. Look, you’re doing more than your share taking me in like this. You don’t have to pretend I’m really one of the family.”

She just raised her eyebrows and looked at him. “We eat at seven. In the kitchen since it’s a weekday.”

“Here’s two hundred sala. I’ll come back this evening - No, it’ll have to be tomorrow. We’ll set something up for the long term.”

“I want to work.” The words had shot out as if by reflex. Anything to avoid saying “Thank you.”

“Tomorrow. We’ll talk tomorrow. I have to get back.” Malun was already heading for the door, and then he was making a brisk pace down the corridor, while Bodie and Ferros started off more slowly in the opposite direction.

Ferros was silent until they reached the far side of the building, and Bodie had very deliberately avoided looking at her. In a plain, narrow corridor that Bodie thought he hadn’t seen before, she pushed open a door then stood back, leaving the doorway to him. “I thought you might like one of these.”

It was a pleasant, sunny room with a large window at the far end, and maybe twice the size of their bedroom at home—which was no longer “theirs” or “home”. The bare double bed was against the wall to the left, about halfway along, and beyond it were a couple of faded armchairs and a low table. He stepped inside the room and found a large wardrobe immediately to the right of the door, and a few small sets of shelves claiming the remaining suitable spaces.

“It looks fine. Where’s the bathroom? Down the hall?”

Now Ferros came into the room, crossing straight to the wall to the right, and opening a small door a few feet from the wardrobe. “It’s all through here.” Bodie followed her. “This is the upstairs section. The bathrooms are downstairs.” This upstairs section was identical in size and shape to the bedroom, and combined a kitchen and living room, with TV provided. To the right there was a staircase leading downwards, set against the wall that adjoined the corridor, and Ferros was already on her way downstairs.

There were two long, narrow bathrooms side-by-side, each with a deep, square bath placed under the window, but one picked out in yellow against all the white, and the other in blue.

“This is all shared then, is it?” They were back in the small corridor outside the bathrooms.

“Yes, there’s four rooms, two on each side. They’re all about the same.” She opened the door near the bottom of the staircase, revealing a bedroom very similar to the one above, though getting less light. “Take any you like. Take all of them. We won’t be putting anyone else in this section.”

Quite right. Have to protect your staff. But for the moment, Bodie let her get away with that. “I’ll take the one upstairs. Looks as if it gets more light. What about bedding, stuff like that?”

“I’ll take you by the stores now. And I’ll show you where your possessions will be delivered.” Bodie followed her through the bedroom and out into the main corridor. Ah, he thought he recognised this one: Ray’s old bedroom was off around that curve, and they were now heading for the kitchens. The linen store was beyond the kitchens, between them and the laundry, and now Bodie finally started to encounter the building’s staff. Most nodded at Ferros as she walked past, but they paid Bodie little attention.

“Take anything you like. I’ll show you what we do about laundry later. Why don’t you take the quilt and I’ll carry everything else?” Bodie picked out bedding and towels in the plainest white and draped them over the arm that she held out. “And the freight room’s just up here.” A broad, curving staircase took them to another corridor that Bodie recognised, very close to the office where he and Malun had found her. The freight room was little more than a cupboard, and one of his boxes was already waiting on the raised platform. “Oh, good. If you move it over there, they’ll be able to send the next one through. I’d come back for it later, if I were you.” A second box had materialised before they were out of the room.

Again, they were silent as they walked to the far side of the river. Bodie could think of nothing that he would ever want to say to her, to any of them. The door to the first bedroom was open, and Bodie led the way in and dumped the quilt on the bed.

“You’re taking this one?”

A shrug. “It’s good enough for me. You said they’re all the same.”

“If you find there’s anything you want, furniture or anything, you just have to ask. You know the way back to the freight room, don’t you?” Bodie nodded. “Well, I need to talk to my sister, and that might take some time. So I probably won’t see you until supper. Which is at seven.”

Bodie’s watch made it gone one. He took it off immediately and started setting it forward by four hours. “OK. Thank you.” And he was on his own.


	15. Chapter 14

## Chapter 14

By six, all of his boxes had arrived and were stacked in the kitchen. He made the bed and then started on the unpacking, which proceeded very slowly indeed. It wasn’t that he was deliberately drawing it out, but somehow he seemed quite unable to grapple with the future, even to the microscopic amount of planning needed to take a single trip through to the bedroom carrying six items, instead of six trips with a single item for each. As for deciding which would be the best kitchen cupboard for the coffee, and which for the biscuits, and which for… He had all of the cupboard doors open, and was standing scratching his head with genuine perplexity when he heard the knock at the kitchen door. It was Homa.

Bodie looked at him warily. The man looked hesitant and concerned, and that could mean anything. “I don’t know if… My wife says she didn’t think to ask you and she doesn’t know whether Malun did or not. Do you think you need to see a doctor? I can take you to ours right now.”

“No, I’m fine.”

A frowning examination. “You don’t look fine.”

“It’s just bruises.”

“I still think we should get him to check.”

“There’s no need. Thanks, but - When you’ve been in as many fights as I have, you get to know what’s going to take care of itself.”

With a shrug: “Well, if you start to think you might have been wrong, just come and find me.”

“Thanks.” Bodie finally managed a smile. “Has your wife talked to her sister yet?”

You would never have thought that such a placid man could look so exasperated. “Oh, yes. So that’s one less for dinner.”

“She hiding in her room, then?”

“She’s driven off somewhere. Threatening not to come back.” A malicious smile: “I’m looking forward to reminding her of that at breakfast.”

“Is this going to make things difficult? In the house, I mean.”

“Oh, she’s always hard work. I think her family have let her get away with it for far too long. I wouldn’t complain if she didn’t come back and then we could hire a nurse.”

“I’d miss her. I like smiling at her -” He demonstrated. “- and watching her squirm.” They both laughed, then Bodie turned serious. “Your wife has told you what’s happened, hasn’t she?”

“She has.”

“I don’t suppose… Ray hasn’t been in touch, has he?”

“We’d tell you. We’d tell you immediately.”

“How long do you think it’ll take him to come to his senses? I mean, _you’re_ a married man.”

It was obvious that Homa wanted to reply, but could conjure nothing but this long, appalled silence.

 _“I see.”_ But Bodie couldn’t form the words, either. The glint of the sun on a pack of coffee was the first thing that caught his eye, so he took the pack from the cupboard and closed the door, and then a bottle of scotch from the next cupboard and close that door, and… “Well, thanks for the doctor and everything. I’d like to try and get all of this away before supper.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then. You know where to go.”

“Yes. Thanks.” Once he was alone again, Bodie did go and open another box with the intention of making good progress. He took a pile of books through to the bedroom and stacked them on one of the sets of shelves near the window, and then suddenly lost hold of the idea that the next step should be a return to the kitchen for a second pile. He stood in front of the window, looking out at the steep, rocky slope, thinking of Ray looking out at the same slope from his bedroom downstairs, and knowing that that thought was as close as he was going to get to Ray in a long, long time.

* * * * *

They were three for supper, five if you counted the sleeping twins in their carrycot on the floor. The meal was a thick meat stew with a creamy mashed vegetable. Bodie did not have to lie when he said it was tasty, but he knew already that he was going to miss Ray’s cooking, and miss it fiercely. There was a bottle of wine and a jug of water on the table, and Bodie was definitely in the mood for some hearty drinking. However, it was soon clear that the two parents were not, so he stopped halfway down his glass and switched to water.

Conversation was subdued, though not as awkward as he’d feared. There was no reference whatever to the current crisis, and they talked mostly about the building: its staff, its upkeep, the changes that had been made to it over the centuries. The set of rooms that Bodie had taken had once been six bedrooms, but had been converted some ten years after the first union organiser appeared among the staff—it had been a subtle and inventive campaign, and the full account lasted to the end of the fruit course.

“And now we usually go upstairs and have a glass of wine while we watch the news. Would you join us?” Ferros managed to sound as if she genuinely hoped that he would.

“Yes. Please.”

Homa was already picking up the twins, and Ferros assigned the glasses to Bodie while she took the bottle. Yes, if she’d appeared in a suit one evening, Bodie would have taken her for Foreign Office as well. The twins were still asleep when they got to the room above the entrance hall, and Homa took them through to the bedroom while Ferros poured generous glasses of wine.

Bodie hadn’t noticed the TV before. It was set up to be seen from the two armchairs, and some slight rearrangement was necessary before he could get a view from the couch. The news wasn’t due to start until eight, so Ferros turned the sound off and they talked about the wine and the twins.

The first few items were about politics, and the next about an earthquake. Bodie found them very hard to follow—the effects of the day’s upheavals, probably, ruining his concentration. With the next item there was a dramatic shift in the newsreader’s tone: from brisk and impersonal, to sombre and tentative. In the first seconds, Bodie caught the words ‘Udom Kol’ and ‘Embrun’ and he turned to the couple to share a reaction, but they were sitting with their mouths open, and with identical expressions of surprise and dismay. The item had no pictures: there was an announcement, then a long discussion with an expert in the studio, then two interviews with distressed people on the street. The two names occurred many times, but Bodie understood nothing else. Finally, back to the studio for another announcement, more sombre even than the first—and then the screen went blank, and stayed blank.

Bodie turned again to the couple and found they were clutching each other’s hands. Ferros’s head was lowered and her eyes closed, and Bodie could see the marks of tears on her face. Her husband leaned towards her, speaking softly, while he felt for the TV controls with his free hand and then turned the set off.

“What’s going on?” He must have waited a good two minutes and it was practically a whisper, but it still startled them both. They looked at one another, and in the end it was Ferros who replied.

“They think you’re dead. They think this planet killed you.”

“What? What’s Ray been telling them? Or is it Malun, or -”

“No one does any telling. It’s because Malun’s separated the masks. The last time they were separated was two years ago, when my father died, and it seems that all that anyone can think is… that you must have died. That _we_ all killed you in bringing you here. I’ve never seen anything like it. Gap Hara has shut down for the evening as a sign of respect. The other channels probably have too.”

“Jesus.” It was touching and chilling at the same time. Had Ray been watching this, wherever he was? What was this doing to him? “They’re… Do they normally jump to conclusions like this?”

“Ferros’s said it. I’ve never seen anything like it. I take it you didn’t understand much of what the people were saying there?”

Bodie shook his head.

“Well, they kept on saying that they _knew_ there could be other reasons, but that if this _was_ the reason, then you must be mourned. That they couldn’t bear to carry on as if nothing had happened.”

Bodie swallowed hard, and for many minutes they were all quiet.

“They’re going to slaughter me when they find out. Aren’t they?”

Ferros, very quiet and firm: “No. The few people who do find out will mourn. On their own. For Ray. And they will never mention what they know to anyone else.”

“Because it would have been better if I had died.”

In unison: “Yes.”

Bodie raised his eyebrows, picked up his glass, and studied the carpet as he drank and drank again. There was nothing to be said.

* * * * *

It was Homa who refilled his glass when the time came, and Ferros who said, “Why don’t we open another bottle? It won’t hurt the girls, just this once. Any preferences, Bodie?”

Bodie’s preference was for a heavy red wine, something to get his teeth into, and he was about to ask if they had any echima. But that was what he had been drinking the night before, and that thought killed his appetite completely. “More of the same?”

“Good choice. I think it’s all we’ve got cold at the moment,” and Homa was out of the room and on his way down to the kitchens. Bodie and Ferros were left looking at each other.

“Will Ray have seen that?” Bodie nodded towards the TV.

“He might have. Even if he hasn’t, it’s probably all that the entire planet is talking about by now. But I have a feeling that he’s found himself a room somewhere. He won’t be coming out for a while.”

“How long’s a while?”

“When he can’t do without the drugs.”

“What’s that, then? A week, a month?”

“It’s Ray, so it’s hard to say. If _my_ experience is any guide, he’ll be thinking of little else after half a week.” Bodie closed his eyes hard, imagining the extremes that could be reached by Ray’s determination. When he opened his eyes again, he found Ferros nodding in grim sympathy. “I know. Some people might have a chance at being… sensible about something like this, but Ray was never going to be one of them.”

“Sounds as if he was a little _bastard_ about leaving home.”

“Oh, yes.” And so they were smiling at one another when Homa came back with the wine.

They were on their first glasses from the new bottle when Bodie pushed the conversation back into the rapids. “Maybe I’m not supposed to ask, but… You said ‘your’ experience. Did you mean with your mother, or -”

“No. It was about three years ago.” She was talking willingly enough. “We had a _huge_ argument. Can you remember what it was about?”

“I certainly can.”

“Well, _he_ can, and he was the one who walked out. We were living in Monor at the time.”

“Where did you go?”

“A hotel the first night, and then I went home to Tinbarr. Stayed with Tavis, my twin.”

“How long were you apart?”

“A week, ten days. We both started taking the drugs on the fifth day, but - I was convinced they weren’t working for me, but now that I - Well. It was the middle of the night and I was pulling Tavis out of bed and telling him that he had to drive me to Monor right now. And then there was the doorbell, and _she_ was there and…” He closed his eyes.

“And we suddenly got much, much better at avoiding arguments.”

Ten days. Even with the drugs it might only be ten days. A wave of purest relief, though he told himself that he should be preparing himself as if it would be longer. And meanwhile it was finally starting to sink in for Bodie that every single married couple on this planet was in the grip of this addiction. Every single one. “But - What if you don’t get better at it? If you really get so you can’t stand each other. It must happen. Jesus, it would be a nightmare.”

Ferros shrugged. “It happens. If there are children, then you can each take some of the children and you can separate, and maybe by the time the last one reaches chamras you’ll have learned to tolerate each other, at least enough to live close so you can send each other mana. If there aren’t children, you have to work that much harder at being tolerant.”

“I’d have thought it would be the other way round. That you’d work at it more if there _were_ children.”

“Oh! Then don’t your children -” She interrupted herself. ~Of course they don’t, Ferros. Have you been /?/ for the last four hours?~ “With us, if children are with a parent who’s alone and… in distress, then they will start to produce the mana. It seems to be nature’s way of keeping the parent functioning until the children are old enough to take care of themselves. It stops when the child reaches chamras.” At Bodie’s blank look: “You know. The first stage of sexual maturity. The start of the qualifying period.”

“You’re not going to tell us you don’t have a qualifying period?”

Bodie shrugged. “Qualified for what? It’s sex. I’ve never seen anyone handing out certificates.”

“How many stages of maturity do you go through, then? What decides who goes on to breed?” Whatever this was, it was really getting to Homa.

Bodie closed his eyes and rubbed them hard with the back of his hand. “It must be lack of sleep. I can’t make any sense of what you’re saying.”

“Only a proportion will breed, obviously. So there has to be some process that decides who becomes fertile and who doesn’t.”

Bodie was getting a headache. What was likely to get this bloke off his back? “Well, what decides with you, then?”

“The qualifying period. If you don’t have enough sex in that time then you don’t qualify.” Said in a tone of: “How could it be simpler?”

“Eh? But you’re already having sex. You just said. How the hell can that decide anything?”

Now Homa looked as if he was getting a headache too. They stared at one another for a while, then Homa shook his head sharply as if waking himself up, and asked Ferros what time she thought her sister would get back. After that, the three of them kept some sort of conversation going while they finished the wine, and then Bodie excused himself to finish unpacking.

* * * * *

It was still early evening for Bodie. Back home Ray would only just be leaving work, Bodie would be starting to wonder if he might make the 6:00 this evening, where he would be sitting on the ferry. And just thinking about it, Bodie felt the glow in his stomach that went with the knowledge that Ray would be coming through the door in no more than two hours.

This couldn’t be happening.

He would have liked some music to unpack to, and was opening the boxes to find his stereo when he remembered. Well, there was always the TV—he could dial in to the local library, order some music. But Ray had always dealt with that. He didn’t know how to read the screens, what to ask for. And maybe this evening all of those services had shut down, too.

After he’d given up on the idea of music, he found that the unpacking was somehow going very quickly, as if his body had got impatient with him. He let it get on with it. It was pointless unpacking the stereo so he prowled the rooms looking for storage space and ended up stowing it under the stairs. Of course, there were the other three bedrooms, but something about the sight of the stripped beds bothered him, and he knew he would be avoiding them.

When he was finished, he made himself some coffee and took it through to the bedroom. He sat in one of the armchairs by the window with his current Dick Francis open on his lap, but he didn’t read, and he let the coffee go cold.

* * * * *

He’d decided to go to bed at midnight, no matter how he felt, and the moment his watch showed the change, he stood up, drew the curtains on the still darkness outside—no ferries, no warding lights—and made his way downstairs to the blue bathroom.

The bed was cold and seemed determined to stay so, and the sounds were all so wrong, too faint and too few. He hated the steadiness of the river’s low gurgling. It was mindless, pointless. He needed to hear the lungs of the surf, a living sound, a cousin to the shifts and moods of Ray’s sleeping breath.

“Ray?” Where are you? How can you not be here?

Not only absent now, but he would not come back to bed during the night, he would not be there when Bodie woke. They would not have sex before breakfast, or after breakfast, or even the next evening. How could this be? How could something so unnatural be allowed, even be possible?

Bodie could not stop thinking about what he needed from Ray—now, tomorrow morning, forever—and he felt himself getting hard. When his cock lifted enough to make a definite presence against the material of his tracksuit, he gave a groan, pushed the trousers down and out of the way, and turned over onto his side, allowing it nothing but air. Then, as it pulsed still hotter, he shoved his hands away into the crisp chill under the pillow. He was a monk, dedicated to… To stopping himself from doing anything that would upset Ray. If Ray knew about it. And it seemed reasonable to him that Ray _would_ know, that Ray was watching and judging, and deciding from moment to moment whether or not he would come back.

* * * * *

If it was not for the evidence of his wet dream, Bodie would have sworn that he hadn’t slept at all. He was aware of every slightest sign of the arrival of morning, of the first bastard fucking bird, of scramblings out on the slope, of the minute (6:18) when he was first able to read his watch, of doors opening, and speech and even laughter.

8:00 was the time he had set himself, and by 8:24 he was standing at the door to the corridor, urgently in need of a solid breakfast but scared rigid by the idea of going down to the kitchens and having to walk past all the staff to get to the family’s fridge. Even if the family was there, with everything set out. God, what if the sister was back and spoiling for a scene? Maybe he should just walk the three miles into Garad and get himself some bread and juice and the makings of a good fry-up.

That was a plan. A panicked, disorderly retreat, but still a plan. He had Malun’s money still in his jacket, so what was he waiting for?

From the sounds, the staff were all in the back of the house, off to the right, so Bodie turned left. After a while, the corridor started looking familiar again and then he definitely recognised the stone steps that led out to the terraces. Yes, better still—he’d run the gauntlet of gardeners rather than maids, any day.

The clouds were all small, but there were a lot of them, and there was a gusting, biting wind. Should he go back for his waterproof, just in case? Oh, come on. It’s only water. He spotted a couple of people working up on the higher levels and smiled at his good judgement, but then he turned a corner and there was a tall, elderly man coming up the steps immediately ahead, carrying two large baskets. The man nodded at him and Bodie nodded back, and that was that.

The stone tables were grouped as before, but the chairs were missing. They hadn’t gone far, though, and had simply been moved to the little kitchen. So this must be where they had breakfast during the winter, judging by the crockery stacked in the sink and the crumbs on the table. Bodie opened the small fridge, found bread and juice. And marmalade in the nearest cupboard. He was briefly tempted, but there was a lot to be said for his plan, including the fact that it would fill up a good two hours of his morning.

He negotiated his way to the front door like a burglar—or like an expert CI5 agent, take your pick. There were two cars on the forecourt, which raised the question of how the staff got in. Well, the back door, of course, but where was it?

* * * * *

It was nearly midday when he got back and he was very hungry indeed, despite the fruit and biscuits he’d eaten along the way. One of the cars had gone—the sister’s, he thought—and he gave a sigh of relief. He retraced his route along the terraces, and got back to his rooms without encountering anything worse than the sound of vacuuming from the gallery.

Toast! Toast! Coffee! A sausage sandwich! Oh, thank God. He ate until it started to hurt, then suddenly felt irresistibly drawn to the threadbare chaise longue under the window. As soon as he surrendered to its length, the sun came out, at the perfect angle to the window, and he felt warm for what seemed the first time in days.

* * * * *

He came awake very suddenly, and so heard Ferros’s step backwards before he turned his head and saw her.

“I’m sorry.” She was flustered, and it didn’t suit her. You had to wonder how long she had been watching, and what she had been thinking. “We’re about to have lunch. I came to see if you’d like to join us. We forgot to tell you about breakfast last night. I’m sorry.”

Bodie rubbed his eyes as he sat up, then looked at his watch and was surprised to find it was only just past one. “I’ve just eaten, thanks. Was your sister back in time for breakfast?”

“Yes. Briefly.”

“I thought her car had gone.”

“We wouldn’t let her take breakfast to our mother. Not while she was wearing that ‘Aren’t you going to ask me what’s wrong?’ look.”

“How is your mother?”

A shrug. “She hardly talks now. She doesn’t want to see anyone. She still insists on getting up, getting dressed every day, but I don’t know why.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. Malun said he’d be around some time after six. You will join us for supper, won’t you?”

Bodie nodded. “Your lunch will be getting cold.” He stood up and walked her to the door. “I was thinking of going for a walk on this side of the river. Is there a back door on this side?”

“Several. The main one is along here.” And she took him along the curve in the corridor and down the narrow staircase to a large, cluttered locker room. ~Hello, Waro. We need to talk about the /?/. Will you be /?/ later in the afternoon.~ Waro would be, and Ferros paused no longer before taking Bodie across to the double doors. They opened onto a small, brick-paved courtyard, and there immediately ahead was a huge archway built into the hillside. “If you go uphill when you get out of the tunnel, that takes you towards Ubilis. There are some good views. I’d stay in range of the river this first time. See you later.”

Bodie hadn’t intended to go for the walk right now, but it was difficult to ignore Ferros’ expectations, especially under the gaze of a group of people who also took orders from her. OK, he’d put in half an hour and then go back to the couch or something.

The tunnel had a level floor and curved gradually to the right. For a tradesman’s entrance, a lot of work had gone into it, from the well-kept lining of light-yellow brick, to the lamp-holders in the shapes of animals, all different, and some with great character. The hoverway along the bottom of the left wall was doubtless a recent addition.

After a few minutes, he saw daylight again, and was soon standing in a large car park. The building was hidden completely behind the steep ridge, and Bodie had to admire their single-mindedness: priority above all to privacy, and to not having to look at poor people’s cars. There was a road heading away downhill. Bodie lost sight of parts of the route, but it seemed to branch before the second bridge downriver, with one branch going right to the bridge, and the other snaking off to the left until it disappeared completely in a group of trees. Uphill there was not even a path. Bodie chose his approach and started to climb.

* * * * *

He turned back at half past three, and around four it started to rain in brief, stinging flurries. You’re on manoeuvres in Wales, he told himself, except this time there’ll be a hot bath and a scotch as soon as you get back. And his body set up the rhythm, and his mind sank into that state that was nearly sleep, and he almost felt insulted when the sun eventually came out again.

The car park was all but empty, and the state of the locker room confirmed that most of the staff had left for the day. He went straight for the bathrooms through one of the downstairs bedrooms, started the bath running, stripped off his wet clothes, then went upstairs to get a scotch, a mug of tea, and his Dick Francis. He’d promised himself a soak and he was going to have it, even if it meant keeping Malun waiting.

In fact, Malun was in no danger of having to wait. If asked if he liked long, lazy baths, Bodie would always say, “Oh God, yes,” but the truth was that he got bored within minutes. This time he forced himself to stay in for long enough to finish the scotch and get wet fingermarks over two pages of the book, and the tea was lukewarm when he carried it back up to the bedroom.

The only locks around here seemed to be those on the bathroom doors, and he wasn’t convinced that Ferros felt it necessary to knock. It was tempting to ignore the fact and see if she could get any more flustered. Though it was possible that the main reaction she would have to the sight of his bared glarus body would be fear and revulsion—forced to face exactly what had tricked and betrayed her brother. No. She’d probably thought that through even before he arrived. She probably had knocked earlier.

He thought he heard Malun’s flyer at about quarter past six. Maybe he’d heard from Ray? Maybe he was even bringing Ray with him? He paced between the kitchen and the bedroom, churning with anticipation and with worry about the best way to handle Ray so that he would stay and be happy. God, how he wanted to run and see him! But maybe Ray still needed coaxing, needed this time with his family first. Someone would come and get him when they were ready.

He forced himself to sit down and thus realised just how hard his cock had got during the pacing. It wasn’t that he’d been unaware of the tension between his legs, but in those first minutes his whole body had felt like a huge, thundering heart. He couldn’t go down to supper like this, or with even an echo of this. He mustn’t ever give them a sight of what his cock could do on its own. He could imagine it so clearly: Ferros and Homa quietly leaving the room, needing to find a dark corner where Ferros could cry.

Downstairs in the blue bathroom again, he closed his eyes and thought of himself and Ray in another bathroom just a few yards away, and his cock remembered the welcome of Ray’s body better even than his mind did, and he came very quickly. The sounds he made held many emotions, any of which would have made an eavesdropper wince and hurry away.

At seven, he made his way down to the kitchen, not discouraged by the lack of a messenger or any other clear sign. Ray had been to the flat, had read Malun’s note, had started thinking instead of just reacting. There was no demonic glarus, no enemy—there was just Bodie, who he had wanted from the first, and whose love had brought him to believe his gods were real. It was not possible that he could forget.

He heard them talking in their own language as he approached from the far end of the kitchen, Ferros and Malun serious and emphatic, Homa more questioning. Ray must still be subdued and silent, or maybe waiting upstairs.

No Ray. It was just the three of them. Homa saw him first, and they all looked up, smiled, and switched to English.

“Have you heard from him?” Bodie put the question to Malun while he was still pulling the chair out from the table.

“No. If I do, if any of us do, of course we’ll tell you immediately.”

“Has he been to the flat yet?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can’t you find out? We need to know if he’s read your note. If I give you the code to the door, can’t you send someone?”

Ferros: “No one who knew why would want to go.”

“Then don’t tell them.”

All three shook their heads and Ferros’ reply was very firm. “It’s not the thing to do.”

They probably wanted a rest from this, but Bodie was in the wrong frame of mind. “Lamon is still hiding from me, then?”

“She’s staying with a friend tonight.” Ferros again. Presumably she was the one the sister had called.

“And tomorrow night? And the night after that.”

“Maybe. She didn’t sound sure herself. ” A shift of tone. “Did you get as far as Ubilis? Where you can see down into Um Zana and the lake.”

“Yeah, that’s about as far as I went. Do you have any maps? I might take the day out next time.”

“I think I know where they are.” Homa “You’ll need one that shows all the housing if the weather carries on like this.”

“Oh! You weren’t out in the rain, were you?”

“I caught a bit of it. Where do I hang my wet clothes? Or does the laundry have driers?”

It was Malun who answered. “I’ll show you after we’ve eaten.” Which made it fairly clear that they’d already disposed of Bodie’s evening. Bodie tilted his head in a way which could be taken as simple acknowledgement, and contributed very little to the rest of the conversation.

* * * * *

“Are you set up for coffee yet? I’d like to invite myself in for a cup.” They had just finished their tour of the drying racks in the laundry and Malun had led them to the bottom of the nearest stairs.

Of course, Bodie could say that he wasn’t… “Always the first thing I do. I can offer you a scotch too. Unless you have to fly straight back.”

“I’m staying the night. Thank you.”

Bodie put some water on to boil, got the worse of the breakfast debris out of sight, and rinsed out the coffee pot. Malun had taken an armchair across from the chaise longue, and was stretching and looking around the room with interest, and talking vaguely about some plans that Ferros apparently had for redecoration.

“How have you been doing, Bodie?” Bodie had only just sat down.

He leaned forward to pick up the bottle of scotch. “OK. Don’t know if I can tell yet.”

“Ferros and Homa aren’t sure if you’re avoiding them or not.”

“I’m not. I’m not good company at the moment.”

“But you’ve no problems with them?”

“Nothing any of us can fix. Do the rest of the family know now?”

“Turon and Ward are out of system. The others know.”

“Did you know everyone was going to think I was dead?”

“No.”

“Will Ray have heard about it?”

“Bodie, I don’t know. He could be anywhere. He’s closed his address now.”

“When would _you_ come back? If it was you?”

“Bodie.” All sympathy and patience. “There is no point in asking these things. There is nothing you can do. You should not be here _expecting_ him to come back. All of us who know him think he will need years.”

“ _I_ know him!”

“You’ve known him happy. When it comes to being unhappy, he can be… very determined and inventive. He’s never been good at seeing practical ways out of it. All he can see are the extremes.”

“Then - Do you think he knows he was happy? Or… will he have convinced himself it was never any good?”

“He knows.”

Bodie paused for the space of several mouthfuls of scotch, unsure how to ask his question, or whether he was going to ask it at all. “What was it that made him happy, then? Was it getting the mana? They obviously pack quite a punch.” He closed his eyes and swallowed as his whole body remembered how Ray reacted to his sweat.

Malun looked at him hard before replying. “You think that’s all our marriages are.”

A shrug. “Sounds like it.”

“The russma couldn’t have progressed if he didn’t like you. If he didn’t think you liked him back. Or… going by our normal biology, anyway. It’s something we’ll have to investigate: what the elements are in your body chemistry that made Ray’s irapas think it was in the presence of someone who was ready and very, very willing. When you were anything but.”

“There was more to it than that.” Resentful or defensive—that seemed to be all Bodie could manage in such exchanges.

“You thought we were insane.”

“That was before I knew who he was. If I’d known he was the bloke I’d had the hots for all week, I’d’ve - Looked at it differently.”

A very, very hard stare from Malun now, and the sound of his nails drumming on the mug of coffee. Eventually: “Your people didn’t tell you, did they? They didn’t pass on _anything_ I’d told them about him.”

Another shrug. “They thought I didn’t have a choice. What difference was it going to make to me?”

“So what _did_ they tell you?”

“That you had said that I had to marry the prince in the dripping-wet mask. And if I did you’d put the base in Britain. And if I didn’t you’d… throw us to the wolves.”

“You must have been terrified. None of us had any idea. We all thought… how hard you must be caught to be so calm about leaving home like that.”

“I’m a soldier. I knew what my duty was.”

“When did you stop being terrified? Before the marriage ceremony?”

Bodie looked away, biting his lips to suppress the satisfied smile that was inseparable from thoughts of that encounter in the dim blue light. “Yes.” He leaned forward to top up the glasses, still avoiding Malun’s eye. “Well before then.”

“Good. Good. I was very worried for Ray. I thought he was going to be badly hurt whatever happened. I was trying to choose the easiest for him.” Then a lift of the eyebrows as the irony seemed to catch up with him.

“You never expected it to work, did you? You thought you’d be able to send me home.” A pause, and realisation. “So he wasn’t addicted to me. Not then.”

“He was in utera. We thought you were, too. From there it normally takes about two months for the changes to become complete. If the betrothal is conducted properly.”

“And the changes can be stopped.”

“Yes. They go into reverse if… tensions emerge. It’s not pleasant but it’s easier that way than if you have to stop the russma by force. When was it that the two of you broke the betrothal? It would have been his idea, of course.” And then something in his own language that Bodie didn’t catch at all.

 _“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”_ Strange how that came like a reflex, even when you knew from your own interrogations exactly how pointless it was. But whether Malun had real evidence or not, what difference did it make now? Bodie shrugged and gave a brief, noisy exhalation. “‘Idea’ makes it sound like we were thinking.”

“So when was it?”

“The first night. And that’s all I’m going to tell you.”

Malun rubbed his hand over his face and kept his eyes tight closed for some time afterwards. Then he sighed heavily. “Well, it probably wouldn’t have made any difference. Since you don’t have a reverse to go into. And Ray was showing absolutely no signs of getting disillusioned with you. Anyway, you’re here, and this time you’re going to _have_ to wait, so what do we all do in the meantime?”

Bodie recognised his cue. “I want to work. I’ll sign up with some agencies tomorrow. Get an idea of how much construction there is going on around here.”

“If you want. But you’re also on our payroll starting tomorrow.”

“As what?” In a less-than-gracious tone.

“I’d like you to come in with me in the morning and we’ll go through some possibilities.”

“Apprentice Cargo Hauler. Third Class.”

“That’s one of them.” He got out his wallet and handed two plastic cards to Bodie. Each had the Hass Embrun version of Bodie’s name on it and some words and numbers that didn’t immediately convey anything to Bodie. “The blue one is your employee ID, the white one is for your bank account. I think I set up enough to see you through the first month, but you know you only have to ask. And I arranged a car for you, so you can pick that up tomorrow. You’ll certainly need it if you decide to stay on here.”

Should he be protesting? Ray would expect him to put up some sort of fight before accepting family money. But why the hell was he worrying about Ray’s pride under these circumstances? “Thanks. If I do stay on, what’s Ferros going to tell the staff about me? Or has she got them trained not to ask questions?”

“Homa’s idea is that you’re in a tolmin marriage to one of the family. Yes, to Ray if they ask. And that you’ve separated for a while.”

“So you’re telling them straight off that I’m a glarus. Right as rain and not even on drugs.”

“A tolmin marriage, I said. So you don’t…? It’s… an infertile marriage. Without the mana and the addiction. It’s for companionship, as much as anything. It’s _unusual_ for one of the partners to be qualified, for obvious reasons.” A pause, and a rueful expression. “Obvious to us. But it’s not unknown, and can be very successful.”

“So this is just between men, is it? Or women, I suppose.”

“Oh, no. Why do you think that? Turon and Sasha are in a tolmin marriage.” Turon: Ferros’ twin who wore the volcano mask; Sasha: the shy woman behind the rock-face mask.

“But you said infertile. It’s this ‘qualified’ business, I suppose. No one’s been able to explain to me what it means.”

“Are you going to tell me that all of your people are fertile? Automatically.”

“Well, not all. But most, I suppose.”

“And you’re fertile as soon as you’re able to copulate? So… you _could_ produce children the first time you copulated? Even if it was the woman’s first time, too?”

“You got it. Is this something else you stone people for?”

“We might. If it ever happened. Maybe it does, but the odds of two people copulating who both have the mutation is obviously too small to give any measurable result. It’s extraordinary.” He was looking at Bodie with a kind of horrified awe.

“What is?”

“You have the biology of animals, in every respect.” _And you have the manners of a turnip, Space King._ “And yet your society has _still_ reached such a level. I can’t understand what makes you function together.”

“Oh, we’re just naturally friendly and trusting. So we’re the only ones like this, are we? The only animals who produce things you want to buy? Everyone else is addicted and qualified.”

“Or something else. Or so different from us, we don’t bother making comparisons. You’re… It’s hard _not_ to see you as a joke that Gagras has played on us.”

Bodie lifted his gaze to the far corner of the ceiling, then swivelled his head far to the right, then far to the left, then back again. With the survey complete: “It’s cosy here at the centre of the universe, isn’t it? Dunno how you can bear to leave.”

Malun laughed, looking for a moment very like his nephew. “Ah, Bodie. You’re the only one who could cope with him.”

“So. Qualified. What does it mean?”

“Well, when we’re about fourteen or fifteen, we go through chamras, which is the first stage of sexual maturity. The body changes and becomes… potentially sexually active. If you’ve engaged in enough sexual activity with other people by the time you’re about twenty five, then you go on to qualify. You become fertile. Again, potentially. The body goes through more changes, which are known as jarunas. Then _if_ you meet someone who is your match and you become married, _then_ your bodies will be fertile with one another. So for us, children cannot be conceived outside of a marriage with the mana addiction. An esmana marriage.”

“Did you qualify?”

“No. It was… a striking difference between me and Raina. No one ever thought I was going to qualify.”

“You’d rather have a cup of tea.”

“I’d rather choose a location for a new transit station.”

Bodie smirked, then frowned in concentration. “I think Ray said Ward hadn’t qualified. Wouldn’t be breeding, was what he said. And he thought Lamon probably wouldn’t. And you just said that Turon wasn’t in that type of marriage. Is it just this family? You’re all too busy with transit stations.”

“No, this generation’s typical so far. Two out of six—that’s absolutely the norm. Of course, with Ray clearly never going to breed, though there was never any doubt that he was going to qualify—he’d always been…” A long, thoughtful pause.

“Highly sexed?”

“That would be accurate. What about ‘slut’? I wasn’t sure if this was an appropriate context.”

“From what he’s told me, ‘hopeless slut’ would fit the bill.”

“Well, it would be useful if we could add a third from one of the younger ones. We’ll see what happens.”

“Two out of six? That’s four out of six with no chance of having children. How do you stop from dying out? Oh! You have large families. That’s why Ray was surprised when I said it was only me and a brother. He asked if my parents didn’t get on.”

“His grandparents had to separate. Savas, his father, was only one of two. It’s what any of us would assume of a family that small.”

“What’s a ‘large’ family for you, then?”

“Ferros and Homa are planning to stop at eight. I think that’s sensible.”

“That’s a full-time job.” _Planning_ to have eight kids? When you had good, cheap healthcare, and you didn’t have a Pope. Suddenly he didn’t envy them any aspect of their biology.

“It is. Ferros and Homa will give up work completely when the next two are born. In most families, the other members all make contributions, but it’s not necessary with us.”

“So… With eight kids you _really_ need to know that your husband is always going to be there. To help breastfeed the other twin, apart from anything else.”

Malun nodded. “There are a lot of things that we need to rely on. We all agree about what’s important.”

And on who the enemy is. “Going to be some changes in your Anthropology Department, eh?”

“One or two. But that’s tomorrow’s problem.”


	16. Chapter 15

## Chapter 15

Malun had come by car, not flyer, and he suggested that Bodie drive, as the best way of learning the route into the office. The business occupied an enormous site on the coast to the north of the city, combining the spaceport, construction facilities, warehouses and offices in an area of several square miles.

“Where do you live? Do you live here?”

“I have a house along the coast. You should come and see it some evening. Or at the weekend—I’m going to take An Udom Kol off, whatever happens.”

“Thanks. I thought you might live on site.”

“I used to sleep over a lot, but now I think it sets the wrong example.”

Bodie parked just inside the main gate, and they took a small, driverless train to the building where Malun was based. Malun’s office was surprisingly small and simple, but it was located at the very centre of the building, and the conference rooms and campaign rooms and lecture theatres and walls of status displays were arranged around it in clear illustration of the man’s radiant power. He wasn’t the only sun in this system, though; the circular pillar in the middle of the building was partitioned into four offices, and when they arrived Iran (who wore Atenassi) was already at work in her office next door to Malun’s.

“Hello, Bodie.” She blinked. “Have you seen a doctor? That looks bad.”

“I’m fine.”

To Malun, concerned: “What about Ray? Do you think -”

“I was losing. I wouldn’t worry about him.”

One of her brisk nods. “Maybe we can talk later. I know Malun has booked your morning for you.” Hint taken, they went back to Malun’s office.

“So what do you have booked for me?”

“It depends on how much you need to know before you decide. I can take you to meet a few people. And of course you don’t have to decide today. If you want, I can just show you to the car and we can do this another time.”

“I need something to do with myself right away. Hauling cargo sounds just my level.”

“I think you’ll get bored very quickly.”

“I went through all this with Ray a billion times. I can’t speak the language well enough for anything else. I didn’t mind doing the work back home -” In Dishna, he meant. “- and I don’t mind doing it here. I’d rather get bored once in a while than be a charity case.”

“I understand that, but we have some ideas -”

Bodie raised a hand. “Not today. I cannot take any more in. No ideas. Please.”

Malun stood up. “Then I’ll show you where the car is and then hand you over to Capa. You can find your way back to Clover?” Bodie nodded. “ _Would_ you like to come over to the house on An Udom Kol?” Another nod. “Then I’ll be in touch to arrange that. Ah! Set up an address for you.” He picked up a stylus and scrawled two words on a computer pad at the side of the desk.

The car was a deep blue, and sleek, and looked very, very expensive. As Bodie’s key-card came in range, there was a crisp click as the car unlocked itself—Bodie had heard it was possible, but this was the first time he’d seen it in person. Malun pointed out the maps but that was all that Bodie needed by way of introduction. They turned back towards the train stop, and Bodie didn’t even turn his head when the click came again.

The cargo area was nearly at the far side of the site and as they went through the stops, Malun pointed out the main canteen, the gardens, the gym, the training centre, the shops, the hotel, the nursery, the bank.

“How many people work here?”

“Permanently, around five thousand, with a lot of visitors passing through. Officially, it’s the base for the entire fleet, although by now that’s looking more and more like an indulgence.”

Most of the people around them seemed to be simply arriving for work, and the train steadily emptied during their journey. However, they never had it entirely to themselves and Bodie had no idea how many of them now spoke English, so he had to wait until they had reached their stop.

“Before we go in… When I was working in Dishna, I didn’t tell people I wasn’t Hailin. I used to tell them there was a genetic problem that affected my speech. I want to do that here, too.”

Malun looked at him, eyebrows raised, then tilted his head in concession. “That has many advantages.”

“Then don’t speak to me in English.” ~I can’t speak _any_ language properly. ~

“You will need to say this, too:” ~You must speak to me in the madras of Ikara. That is the only madras I understand.~ “People need to understand that you don’t know the local dialect. Repeat what I said.” Bodie got there on the third attempt, and they proceeded to the administration block.

Capa, Bodie’s new boss, had clearly been warned to expect him, although he seemed surprised that this protégé of Malun—and what had Malun been telling people so far?—should choose the lowest rung. The surprise faded as he heard Bodie speak. Malun’s introductions were very brief, and then he left at a brisk pace.

~I’ve /?/ you to Buka’s team. I’ll take you to their /?/ and he’ll /?/ you.~

The team were in a small locker room, changing into cream-coloured overalls. Bodie counted three women and six men. Buka had a good four inches on Bodie and seemed to think that smiling was bad for your health. Capa made his introductions even briefer than Malun’s.

~Bret! Get this man some /?/~ A head-to-toe assessment. ~In twenty two.~

Bret put his cup of tea down on the table, glanced briefly at Bodie, and left the room. He returned within minutes carrying a clean, folded pair of overalls.

~Where can I leave my jacket?~ He had already taken it off.

The woman standing nearest him stepped over to the lockers and pulled one open. ~You can use this /?/.~

Bodie hung his jacket up and pushed the door to, but it immediately sprang open by about an inch. ~How do I make it… stay closed?~

~You need your /?/.~

~What’s that?~

She reached into the breast pocket of her overalls, and brought out a blue ID card. ~You have got a /?/, haven’t you?~

“Oh.” Bodie opened the locker and fetched the card from his wallet. ~What do I do with it?~

She took it from him, inserted it in a vertical slot near the edge of the door, pushed the door closed, then pushed a button to the left of the slot. There was a metallic clunk, and the door stayed closed. She handed the card back to him. ~When you want to open it, put the card back in and then press this.~ Another button, below the first.

~Thank you.~ They exchanged brief smiles, and then Bodie turned back to the table and picked up the overalls.

* * * * *

They spent the morning loading up a train. As well as everything else, the site had its own branch line off the national railway system. The pace was as practised and efficient as Bodie had seen onboard ship, but they broke promptly for lunch at the appointed time even though the loading wasn’t finished. During the walk to the train stop, there was some debate about which canteen they were going to use: apparently they normally went to the nearest one, two stop further on and in the passenger area of the spaceport, but it was also traditional to go to the main canteen when someone new joined the team. Tradition triumphed fairly swiftly.

The food was free and everyone agreed that it was perfectly good, but rarely good enough to bother mentioning to anyone afterwards. Bodie found the choice and the arrangement of counters bewildering, and he played it very safe, tagging after Arta, the woman who had closed his locker, and choosing only the most familiar dishes.

The team were friendly enough, but not particularly interested in him. Many of them had been working together for years, and the site clearly generated a lot of gossip. He listened hard, determined to catch up with this local dialect, and flatly _refused_ to feel more than mild exasperation when he realised the extent of the differences. He’d ask Homa for help—just half an hour, say, every evening.

After lunch, they showed him around the garden and the shops and the other facilities. He stopped at the bank to get some cash—it was time he started making a contribution to the household—and then it occurred to him to check his balance, so he went back to the machine a second time. _“I think it should be enough.”_ Yeah, Malun, it should be, if I decide to buy a house in the next month. OK, not a house, but it was still a year’s wages—and that was for a policeman, not a labourer.

Bodie kept thinking about the money during the afternoon’s work. He didn’t think that Malun meant him to read anything into it, given that the man was nothing if not direct. Malun would probably say quite sincerely that it had just seemed “a sensible amount of money”. But Bodie couldn’t help suspecting that Malun was overcompensating. No, none of them blamed him personally, but they all thought it would be better if he’d had the good taste to die instead. But since they’d already told him that to his face, why was he brooding about reading guilt into Malun’s generosity? Because this was the clearest sign that they were _never_ going to get over it? And because he was now starting to believe that he would be drawing on this account for years. It felt wrong, completely wrong to have money that was entirely his own. Without really noticing, he had got into the habit of including Ray in every consideration, and this duty now seemed like the ultimate privilege.

They broke for tea once the train was on its way, and then joined another team in stowing the freight from a stream of shuttlecraft. The other team were working a later shift and they kept at the task when Bodie’s team knocked off, again promptly, at five.

Four members of the team had a gulshor court booked at the gym—gulshor being the Hailin sport that was closest to squash—so that four left the train at the stop for the canteen, while the others continued to the stop inside the main gates. Here, half took the bridge to the platform for the commuter train into the city, while the others headed for the car park. Money was one thing, but a car was something else, and Bodie’s stride took on a definite bounce at the idea of finally having his own car, and a seriously flashy one at that. The other drivers were parked on the other side of the car park—in the unofficial “cargo” zone—so he was soon able to wish them a good evening and quicken his pace almost to a run.

Click. God, what a sexy sound. What a total, fucking beauty. Was he going to go straight home? Or get a real taste of freedom?

It was 5:20. They were expecting him back for supper. Freedom would have to wait.

* * * * *

The drive was exhilarating, and he could feel his self-confidence re-inflating with every mile and every effortless acceleration. At the same time, he felt increasingly lonely. He wanted someone to share this with. He wanted Ray.

The car had a music player, but the card-rack was empty. Then it was more than time to ask Ferros to teach him how to access the music library and make his own cards. Maybe Homa could show him around their music as part of those dialect lessons.

Odd that. When it came to technical things, Ferros was the first one he thought of, but he couldn’t imagine wanting daily lessons from her. She was a natural at giving concise instructions, but he suspected that she had no more real patience than her brother. Not that he knew anything about Homa’s patience, but there was some hope in the fact that he was an outsider too, in a way. He’d had to learn how to deal with this family. He knew what it was like to have to earn your place.

* * * * *

When he set off the next morning, he had some eight hours of music on card. Most of it was instrumental, and all of it was upbeat. Back home (on Earth), he’d never had much time for instrumental music, but the previous night he’d found himself shaking his head instantly at any stuff with words. Yes, he wanted to get better at the language, but the car was _his_ territory, and he wasn’t going to have the cards in _his_ car reminding him of all the things he could not change.

It was light when he left, though the sun was not yet over the horizon and there were patches of mist over the fields. The sun rose from the sea, as it did at home (in Parass), and this morning there were ribbons of clouds just waiting, it seemed, for those minutes when they could take on a rare, dusky orange. Bodie wished he had a camera.

This was going to be a long commute, though, if he did stay at the castle. OK, door-to-door it was about the same time as taking the ferry into Dishna, but that wasn’t much of a comparison. On the ferry, in the mornings, he’d always been with Ray.

Was he going to stay? He probably was. Move to a flat of his own? He’d be pathetically lonely. Find someone to share with? An instant bark of derision. Back at the castle they spoke English, they already knew what he was. And now that he was working they would be able to find more things to talk about over supper. They were over the worst.

He parked in the “cargo” zone and was one of the first to arrive in the locker room. That day was spent in the warehouses, dealing with a shipment that had come in during the night. They went to the nearer canteen for lunch, and it was all very similar to the galley onboard ship, and Bodie felt himself settling in for the duration. As far as he could gather, most of the conversation was about plans for the weekend—it was At Oba Nyon, the Friday—and Bodie said he was visiting a friend on An Udom Kol but otherwise didn’t know. And he didn’t, though he knew he was looking forward to being able to wander around without having to worry about avoiding the staff. He’d probably put in a few hours in the gym. The younger members of the team were going out drinking that evening and immediately invited him along, but he said he had to get home. Next time, though…

One of the drinkers had a car and was giving a lift to the others, so there were six heading for the car park this time. All five were visibly and audibly impressed by Bodie’s car. ~You must have been /?/ for years.~

~I have a rich husband.~ He grinned at them, imagining Ray’s fury at such a description, then got in and closed the door before they could ask anything else.

* * * * *

Malun’s house was on a small cove that was barely on the map. There was a crescent of sandy beach with cliffs at each side, and there were two similar, shell-like houses built into the shelter of the cliffs. Bodie identified Malun’s easily from the flyer that was parked in a small hangar at the back, but apart from that there were no obvious signs of wealth. What sort of person was the neighbour, then? The second-richest man on the planet? Or a retired plumber?

“How long have you lived here?” They were having a pre-lunch drink in the conservatory that ran in a curve around the front of the house.

“Oh, well over thirty years, now. Raina and I bought it together after we’d got our promotions to Manus.”

“I was expecting something more like Clover.”

Malun laughed. “For me?”

“Don’t people expect you to… I dunno, make more of things? Put on a show.”

“Don’t you think the largest fleet of jump-ships in known history is enough of a show?”

“Yeah, so I can’t work out why you _don’t_ live like a king.”

“ _I_ think I do. But most people who visit here ask something like that. Is there anything that obsesses you, Bodie? That you know you think about more than anyone else would ever understand?”

Bodie raised his eyebrows. _The ways of winning. The ways of killing a man._ No. Granted, his thoughts there would never be “normal”, but the time of obsession was gone. “Ray.”

Malun nodded, unsurprised. “For me, it’s always been the business, for as long as I can remember. I knew when every ship was launched, even the smallest scoutship. I would be _sick_ with excitement when they were towing a new station into position. I had to force myself— _be_ forced—to talk about anything else. I still do.”

“Not surprised no one thought you were going to qualify.”

“Raina was the only person who could put up with me. She thought it was hilarious. She started following the politics, guessing what they were going to do next. Mostly to annoy me. She got very good at it. We had bets about what would happen when we joined up.”

“God. They wouldn’t’ve known what hit them.”

“No. We already knew everything. Except how to get people to work with us. And then work together for us.” The doorbell sounded: two quick trills. Malun checked his watch. “Twenty-four minutes. So we’ll go in at quarter past.” Then there was the sound of a car driving away. Malun had explained as soon as Bodie arrived that he did not cook and had called his housekeeper in to make their lunch.

“Who won the bets?”

“I did. Because she married Savas and left the business.”

“You’d have missed her.”

A shrug. “I missed what she brought to the business. We all did. But by the time she met him we were already spending most of our time out of system, working on different projects. Once she was married, at least I knew we’d catch each other when I was home.”

“Ray’s father was in the business too, wasn’t he?”

“He was a research engineer. He was working on Nadiac Station in the Fuels section when they met. I got home and there was one of her notes on the kitchen table about this shy young engineer with the lovely curls and the green eyes and prettiest penis. I thought, ‘Well, we’ll see how long that one lasts.’” He laughed. “It wasn’t until the second time I met him that I found out he was a Bakkel.”

* * * * *

After lunch, Malun suggested a walk and they set off on his well-worn half-hour path.

“So how are you doing? Can you tell yet?”

“Good. Thanks for setting everything up.”

“Are you bored yet, in Cargo?”

“Come on, it’s been two days. Give me a chance.”

Malun slowed his pace and looked at him with curiosity. “What did Ray want you to do?”

“Go to college.” Very flatly, and Bodie showed his impatience to continue walking.

“Well, you know what you want. Tell me when you want a change. I’ll stop asking.”

They were on their way back to the house when Bodie next spoke. “OK. I know you told _me_ not to ask, but… what’s state’s Ray likely to be in by now?”

“He’ll be feeling cold all the time. Finding it difficult to concentrate. Hungry, but revolted by food. Troubles getting to sleep, and dreams exactly like being awake. It won’t be at its worst yet, but that’s what to expect.”

“With or without the drugs?”

“Without, he’ll feel as if his bones are on fire, as if there are insects crawling around inside his brain. He’ll barely be able to stand. You asked.”

Bodie shook his head. “It’s not right. The two of us sitting down to lunch. You bothering about whether I’m bored. _Bored_! Me thinking about finding a partner for gulshor. And all the time he’s like that. We should be _doing_ something.”

“Now _that_ is the sort of question I told you not to ask. Everything makes it clear that he’s determined to make sure there’s nothing anyone can do. And that’s his decision. We have done all we can and there’s nothing to be gained by making ourselves _more_ miserable. The rest is up to him. Find a gulshor partner. Do anything you feel like doing. Neither Ferros nor Homa nor I want to deal with you moping around.”

Bodie had to laugh. “That’s what I like about you, Malun. You always let me know exactly where I stand.”

* * * * *

By the time Bodie got his second Notice of Payment message from the Payroll Department, he had his routine fairly well established. He’d found a partner for gulshor from one of the other cargo teams working the same shift, and they played twice a week after work. However, word of Bodie’s prowess was spreading and bringing in challenges and invitations. For the moment, he aimed to join Ferros and Homa for supper on at least two nights of the week, so that limited him to either two extra sessions of gulshor, or one session and one evening of drinking with the youngsters.

They held off asking about his husband until the end of the second week, but the experience of being in _the_ car on the way to the pub was obviously too much for Arta and she started the questions before they were even out of the gate.

~He’s a policeman. His family is rich.~

~Is he /?/ in Monor? When does he finish work? Sesta’s /?/ used to /?/ us almost every At Oba Nyon, didn’t she?~ The appeal for confirmation was addressed to Bret in the back seat.

It was always best to stick to the simplest set of lies. ~No, he’s in Dishna. We cannot live together at the moment.~

Obvious surprise from both of them, and yet another question from Arta. ~It’s a tolmin marriage then? You know, Agud _said_ she didn’t think you had qualified. ~

Agud was driving the other car. Bodie glanced in the mirror to check if the car was in view behind them, and saw that Bret was wincing, as if unable to believe that Arta had just said that. Bodie had to hear this. ~So how did she guess that?~

~She /?/ you in the gym yesterday. She can /?/ tell if a man’s been through jarunas and she didn’t think you had.~

It took Bodie some seconds to piece that together: remembering that jarunas was like their second puberty; and _finally_ realising that Ray’s cock must only recently have reached its state of perfection; and then wondering how long Agud had been studying him. He’d been wearing his darkest, most-concealing kit, too. Or had she followed him into the showers? A good thing he hadn’t claimed to be in a full, addicted marriage, especially since these thoughts were having a definite effect on him. As distraction, he looked back at Bret again, and grinned to find him with his eyes shut, shaking his head.

~I was very shy when I was young.~ He felt he had to say something, even though there was no hint that they expected an explanation for his presumed sexual backwardness. Certainly, they wouldn’t suspect the part that sexual deprivation was now playing in his life.

~Because of your /?/ with speaking? It must be /?/.~

~Yes.~

~You’re not shy now, though. Are you and your husband /?/?~

~I don’t understand the last thing you said.~

~Are you /?/ to have sex with other people?~

Bodie stared at her, then registered the swerve of the car and quickly brought his attention back to the road. It took him some time to frame a reply. ~I am not interested in anyone else.~

~Oh, I think that’s /?/.~

What? ‘Old-fashioned’? ‘Romantic’? ‘A challenge’? Given her bright tone, it could have been anything. Bodie said nothing, and there were no more questions for the rest of the evening. Bret might well have had something to do with that, since he dragged Arta off for a reprimand as soon as they got to the bar, and then almost certainly had a quiet word with the other two. It was the best entertainment Bodie had yet found in Monor.


	17. Chapter 16

## Chapter 16

If only he could get his sex drive to accept some sort of routine. He had his night-time wank and his early-morning wank and sometimes his lunch-time wank, but still his cock couldn’t be relied upon in public. It got worse as the weather improved and everywhere he looked he was seeing bare legs and arms and only the thinnest material over everything else.

The worst day of all was towards the middle of Set Agusti, the fourth month of the year, on the first day of the weekend. He’d gone out for a run, getting back well after breakfast, and then discovered he had only a dribble of the tegal juice he’d been promising himself. So he’d set off over the terraces to raid the small fridge, and had thus got his sight of Ferros and Homa sunning themselves. Homa was on his back with his shirt off, and Ferros was leaning over him. Later, Bodie retrieved an impression of a small blue jar in her right hand, but it was days before anything could displace the image of her tanned hand on Homa’s small breast, their shared looked of concentration as she worked on the peaked nipple.

Bodie was instantly, agonisingly erect. He backed away, stifling a whimper, then stumbled, hunched over, to one of the higher terraces where he knew there was a corner that would offer full cover. Dear Christ, how could you need someone this much and yet the blood keep itself from boiling out of your skin? His cock needed Ray to be looking at it, his arse needed Ray to want it to the point of violence and beyond, his heart was screaming. He bit hard into his lip as he came, and afterward knew surprise that his guts were somehow still inside his body.

He avoided the couple for the rest of the weekend, and on At Mordez morning left a note about a week of gulshor tournaments and matches late into the evening, and his partner’s offer of a couch. After work, he drove around town until he found a suitably characterless hotel, and then he moved to a different hotel every night, and this existence depressed him enough that he was able to return to the castle before the end of the next weekend.

* * * * *

The sister came back after about three weeks, by which time they had hired a nurse to look after Raina during the week. Bodie was never in the house at the same time as the nurse, but he might not have got to meet her even if he hadn’t been working, since she spent almost all of her time in her patient’s rooms. Ferros was convinced that her mother found the change a relief—not having to make the same effort for a stranger—and the nurse stayed on even after Lamon came back.

Lamon was very subdued indeed, with no sign of her initial fury and indignation. Bodie suspected that she was now terrified of him, but was determined to be as tolerant as the rest of the family. If that was the case, she was being truly brave, and Bodie abandoned his plans to torment her. His opportunities would have been limited, anyway, since they only met for those two suppers during the week, and maybe for one or two breakfasts at the weekend before she drove off to spend the day with this friend or that.

As for Bodie’s weekends, he had a standing invitation to lunch with Malun on An Udom Kol, and the rest of the time filled itself up with explorations of the hills around the castle (viewed as a reconnaissance mission to give more interest), and making music cards for the week to come, and errands for the household, and babysitting, and social spinoffs from his work. For their fourth lunch (or was it their fifth?), Malun announced that his stomach was insisting on a particular seafood dish as they could only prepare it in this one restaurant on Lasin, a small island to the south. The table was booked, and the flyer checked and ready.

“Why don’t you take flying lessons? Get the licence?” Most of their fellow-diners seemed to have flown in, and flight had been the main topic of conversation during the meal.

“It’s a thought. How much would it cost?” A few months’ pay, apparently. Perfectly within his means. The idea was very appealing, even if he never got to use the licence afterwards. “A lot of specialised terms, though. I can see that being a problem.”

“I can teach you all of that before you start. Leave it to next week, though—I prefer to plan.”

“OK. Thank you. Hey, it’ll be better than a jump-jet. I was always itching to try those vertical take-offs.”

Malun was smiling Ray’s smile at him again. “Then if you can convince me you’re not going to try any acrobatics, I’ll get you your own card for Clara.” Clara was the flyer.

Bodie stared at him. “You don’t have to.”

“I can tell when a man knows what he’s talking about. Don’t fly it in to the site, though. There would be all the questions you’ve been avoiding.”

Amazing that Malun thought he might even do such a thing. “Like what? People wouldn’t think I’m living with you, would they?” Malun Vasmar: voted least likely to take up with silly over a younger man. “What do you reckon people here think?” He glanced around the restaurant.

Malun shrugged, possibly not even picking up on the sexual angle. “If they heard us talking in English, probably that you’re here to talk trade with the business. Otherwise, that you’re my son. Which by our traditional definitions, you are.”

Bodie blinked at him, and could think of nothing to say. Eventually, after a throat-clearing: “I’d have to get up bloody early in the morning to sneak it out of the hangar before _you_ leave for work, anyway.”

“Oh, I was thinking of Set Naro -” The seventh month. “- when I go to Skina Station for our meeting. Maybe I hadn’t mentioned it. But you could fly between Clover and here -” Presumably his house. “- and then drive in to the site.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Seven weeks. If you pick up the vocabulary quickly, you should have your licence well before I leave.”

As a teacher, Malun was demanding but consistent, and after three sessions they both agreed that Bodie was ready to find himself a flying-school. The flying-lessons were nearly as good as sex, down to the initial nerves. Not sex with Ray, of course, but still, with someone you’d had your eye on for a while. After he’d got his licence, he spent even more of his weekends out at Malun’s, and his share of fuel for the flyer became the main item in his weekly budget.

He wished there was something he could do for Malun in return. But what? What do you give a man who has his own fleet of jump-ships? And who has really almost no interests outside his work? All Malun wanted of him was that he should wait, and that he should wait cheerfully, with none of that ill-considered moping. They hardly ever mentioned Ray, or not Ray as he was now. The happy Ray, or the snarling twin, or the hopeless slut, yes, sometimes. Malun told Bodie when the flat was put on the market and then, mere weeks later, when it was sold at a price that would support Ray for years, even if his state made it impossible for him to work. Bodie received this news as simple information, and kept his moping until he was home in his own room.

* * * * *

The first An Uraba of Set Idamo (the fifth month of the year) saw the first appearance of the new Udom Kol and Embrun. The woman who ran the spaceport had gone back to wearing Embrun, and a man at a similar level elsewhere in the business had taken on Udom Kol. It was past the middle of the next week when Bodie even heard about the appearance—from Homa, who’d assumed that Malun had discussed it with him at their lunch—and it seemed there had been no audience. Not a soul. The next appearance was that coming An Uraba, and the third the An Uraba after that, and still there was no audience.

The world was still in mourning for him, and those who knew the truth were indeed keeping it to themselves. One day at work after the third appearance, he heard the three married members of the team wondering about where he might be buried. On Bakkel land, probably. The Bakkel would have made the offer even if Udom Kol was not one of them. Or maybe Udom Kol had taken the body back to Earth. Seeing Bodie listening, they asked his opinion, and he said he thought the Bakkel would make the offer.

And they would, of course they would, but he probably wouldn’t accept—assuming he was in a position to state his preference. Ray—or the Ray he’d known—wouldn’t want to be buried in range of the castle, his tomb just another Bakkel building for the staff to maintain. He’d wanted the grave that was theirs alone, and in a place they could claim. Bodie thought about the dunes, where they’d first talked about this, and wanted it to be there, or the first solid land further up. With the waves always sighing, and the clouds of birds, and no more than a minute to the path that led to their home. They would take up their life in Parass when they were together again. Everything would be restored.

* * * * *

Bodie missed Malun quite a lot while he was out of system for this meeting, and kept better track than anyone else at Clover of the number of weeks until he was due back. The others assumed that Bodie would prefer Malun gone indefinitely, because of the flyer, but by the fourth week Bodie had done all of the solo exploration he cared to, and by the fifth he’d reached the point of talking out loud to the presence in the passenger seat—usually Ray, but sometimes Malun. Homa and Ferros came up with him a few times, but for at least the last two, he had the feeling they were humouring him. And how much nagging had Ferros had to do to get her sister to ask for the lift to the summer concert over on Slone? She and her friends had been _so_ polite, and so helplessly horrified when he said he’d stick around for the concert after all.

“How was the meeting?” They were in Bodie’s kitchen. It was midweek and Malun had flown over on his second day back to see Raina. Bodie had expected him to leave immediately afterwards, probably choking back tears, but he seemed now resigned—or more than resigned, as if she was already dead.

“Very productive. I’m surprised your ears have made it back already, though.”

“Eh?”

“You were top of the agenda. Or your people, anyway. Not surprisingly, I did use you as my main example.”

“We say your ears are burning. When someone is talking about you.”

“Interesting. Clara looks better than when I left. I’d forgotten the upholstery used to be that colour.”

Bodie shrugged, disowning the hours he’d put in during the last days of the weekend. “She’ll be glad to have you back. Maybe I should give her a rest and sign up for jump-ship lessons next.”

“No.” Very emphatic.

Bodie looked at him, surprised. “No? You’re that sure I’d be wasting my money?”

“You’re not going out of system.”

Raised eyebrows. “And I have to be home and in bed by nine? What is this?”

“It’s too dangerous. You stay here.”

Too dangerous? Who do you think you’re dealing with, here? “God, and to think I’ve been crossing the road on my own all this time.”

“Some things can’t be avoided. I’ve just had to hope I’ve been doing the right thing about Clara. But out of system…” He shook his head.

“It’s safe enough for you, though.”

“I’m not a married man. You stay here.”

Bodie blinked, then shrugged again, and finally said, “Not as if I was serious, anyway. From what I hear, I’d need to put in five years of space maths first.”

Later, after they’d caught up on most of the other news, Bodie found the right pause and said, “Is it really that dangerous? Out of system.”

Malun gave a deep sigh and rubbed his forehead. “Bodie. You’ve picked the wrong person to argue the statistics with. I need you to stay here. I need to be able to get you to Ray within five seconds, if necessary.”

 _You make me sound like a shot of some emergency drug_. But you are, William Bodie. You are. _“My son.”_ Nah, nothing more than a life-support system for a bunch of glands. As soon as he’d thought of a plausible excuse—a gulshor match to be squeezed in before start of shift—he served it up and was rid of Malun within minutes.

* * * * *

It took Bodie more than a week to recover from that encounter, and he didn’t even bother with an excuse in his message to cancel their An Udom Kol lunch. However, another week of work without the flyer at his disposal and without the tension of waiting for Malun’s return, and the conversations he had with Malun inside his head were again those he’d had in the last two weeks of the man’s absence. The next message he sent was to check that Malun was still expecting him on the coming An Udom Kol.

He’d decided during the drive to hold off until after they had eaten, and he kept to plan. “Suppose I did start getting bored in Cargo. What were those other ideas you said you had?”

“We want you to write a guide to us. For your people. Mostly on learning Hass Embrun, but on anything else you think is important.”

“I can’t _speak_ Hass Embrun.”

“You speak more than anyone doing business with us is ever likely to know. And we don’t want someone who can speak it, we want someone who’s still working hard to learn it. We want you to say, ‘You’re going to find this difficult, and that confusing, and expect to take a good two months to pick this up.’”

“God. I don’t want to be reminded of all that.”

“You’d be doing your bit to push us out of the centre of the universe.”

Bodie had to smile at that, but his expression soon soured again. “Sounds like that’s the only idea you’ve got. Wasn’t what I was hoping for, to be honest.”

“What were you hoping for?”

A shrug. “A challenge. Some fun. Like learning to fly. This just sounds like bloody hard work and rubbing my nose in… Well, it’s been over a year, and listen to me. And me writing a book. It’s a joke.”

“You don’t see any challenge in it?”

“Challenge? A challenge is when you know you’re going to _win_ if you do it right. This is a fucking lifetime’s obstacle course. I don’t want to be reminded.”

“OK. It was a bad idea.”

Soon after, they went on the half-hour walk and did the full circuit despite the baking heat. Once they were back, Malun suggested an iced drink in the cool of his study, and Bodie accepted, wanting to tone down his headache before he drove home.

“Bodie. I’ll say this and then it’s back with you. Ray is going to need you for the next thirty or forty years. Basically all his life. And I know you took that on from the beginning, in your own way. And I can see why you don’t want to be reminded. But…” He sighed. “It’s not going to get easier simply with time. The effort you put in now—and I can see every reason why you’d want to avoid it—will give you and Ray so many more options in ten years time, twenty years. You see my point?”

Bodie nodded, reluctantly. “But I _am_ working at it. And I can’t see any difference. And they’re a good crowd in Cargo. God, I could do worse. Have done, even when I _did_ speak the language.”

“Everyone’s impressed by how you’re fitting in. But I _can_ see the difference. Ferros and Homa can. And from what I’ve seen, if we can find a way of turning it into your type of challenge, then you’ll soon be having to tell your friends in Cargo that there’s finally been a cure for your genetic defect. Did you not even notice what was happening when we were working on your vocabulary for the flying-lessons?”

“That was different. And what other lessons we gonna train me for? Last suggestion I made you killed stone dead.”

“We need a special approach. I’m not the person to design it, but I’m more and more certain that Cara is. We brought him in from Skina as part of the changes in Anthropology and he’s now heading the training unit here on site. We talked about you and the guide on the way back from the meeting and he had some strong ideas, very focused. That’s what he’s known for. At the time I didn’t know when or if you’d show an interest, so we didn’t take it very far. But why don’t I give him a week or so to work on it properly, and then you can meet him and decide if he knows as much about challenges as we think he does?”

Bodie pulled a few faces while he thought about it. If he said yes to this meeting, he would end up by going along with the whole idea. He could see it. And it sounded bloody awful. But he did also see Malun’s point. “I’m not going to do this full-time. Whatever happens. It would drive me bonkers. I still want to spend most of my week in Cargo.”

“That was one of the first things Cara said. It has to be intense, for both of you. You’ll both need time to let things sink in and to recharge for the next session.”

“What’s he like, then? He knows who I am?” Of course he does, you dickhead, they spent the whole meeting talking about you.

“Intense. Very original thinker. Superb at structure, at bringing out purposes.”

“What about ‘fun’? If he’s this serious academic type, we’ll just be sitting there looking at each other like stuffed frogs.”

“I’m not the best judge of that. But he makes Iran laugh. And I hear he plays a mean game of gulshor.”

“Well… D’you want to make it three for lunch next weekend, then?”

* * * * *

What had he done? Why couldn’t he leave well alone? Day-long lessons in the universe’s most difficult language with some smart-arse high-flier. Oh, Jesus.

But if it did make a difference? Because who could tell what it would take to bring Ray back—and to make him stay. It certainly could not hurt, if he found that Bodie could now try for more “respectable” jobs, and maybe even stand a chance, with the business’ Anthropology Department down as a reference. And this guide… Wouldn’t that show that he knew he was here to stay? That he wanted to be one of them. That the two species could learn to understand one another. Would an animal, would their Satan invest even a minute in something like that? If it would just start Ray thinking that maybe, for them, the biology did not matter, then he would find a way of getting through the sessions with this hotshot.

* * * * *

When Bodie drove up to Malun’s house the next An Udom Kol, he found an unfamiliar car already parked outside. Oh, damn Malun. Just couldn’t resist the chance to have another meeting about the human.

Anis Cara wasn’t at all what Bodie had expected. Not small and dark and hunched, with a mad-monk stare, but with the sort of pleasant face that you had to concentrate to remember, and with the mildest manner. He didn’t treat Bodie as some primitive specimen, either, but as a colleague who would bring his own, valued skills to any tasks they tackled together. Bodie was convinced even before they’d finished the meal and cleared the dining table so that Anis could spread out his notes.

“Now this is how I work at this stage: I present _a_ version of how we might proceed, and I do this to give you something concrete to react to. I will not be surprised if we decide that this -” He placed his hand flat on the nearest sheet. “- is completely unsuitable.” The manner was still mild, but the mildness was now revealed as a film of algae over a bottomless pool of self-confidence. This man had been right so many times, he left it to others to keep count. “This is what I’ve been thinking…”

What had he not been thinking? He had a structure for the guide book that made it interesting, that made it something that Bodie would want to read, and supporting this structure he had a plan of campaign for the two of them, illustrated at this stage by the details of the first chapter and its associated tasks. And further, he had devised a structure for their working days—the first two of each week, he was proposing—which aimed to balance slog with idea-generation, with decision-processing, with time to mull things over. So Bodie would always know exactly where he stood, would arrive at their office each day with his mission already set, and would leave in no doubt of its outcome. Anis didn’t spell it out like that; he talked about efficiency and the importance of knowing when to impose discipline in a creative project, as if it applied to both of them, as if Malun had never passed on Bodie’s line about the ‘fucking obstacle course’.

“It sounds great. When can we start?”

The two Hailin matched his broad smile. “Not this coming week. I need to get some things in place. Book an office for us.”

“And I need to liaise with Cargo. Clear your new working days.”

Bodie frowned. “What should I tell the team? I can’t just tell them I’m working part-time—they’ll know I’m in those days if they see me in the canteen or the gym.”

“Well…” For Anis, the tone was decidedly tentative. “You could tell them that you’re working with the linguists in Anthropology. Testing different approaches to teaching.”

“But that’s practically the truth, isn’t it?”

Wryly: “I know. I’m ashamed to suggest it.”

Was he taking the piss? Yes, but probably not out of Bodie. “So we start the week after, then?”

* * * * *

Bodie could not get rid of his feeling of guilt at how much he was enjoying himself, although he could get some sense of relief if he imagined taking those three weeks of holiday that he was, apparently, entitled to—the guilt submerged in a flood of panic at the thought of those eighteen long, long days with no distractions from Ray’s absence. But Ray would be back, and it could be any day. He told Anis that they needed to have plans for how they would continue their work on the guide when he was back in Parass, and Anis had agreed and immediately written the transportation costs into his unit’s budget, on the assumption that it might happen any month. Bodie had come very close to picking him up and hugging him.

They didn’t always get on that well. Anis had the unaccountable notion that Bodie was lazy—“criminally lazy” it was, in one of their less productive weeks—and Bodie had many, many examples of Anis’ selfishness and compulsive hypocrisy. Still, come At Mordez morning, Bodie was always looking forward to the next challenge, and everyone who knew about the guide seemed to be impressed with progress.

Malun was away for a week towards the end of the year, visiting their orbiting shipyards. Must be quite a sight, and not out of system either, but Bodie didn’t attempt the suggestion. Malun had assumed he’d want to make use of the flyer again, but warned him that it was now winter weather—as if Bodie hadn’t noticed—and he mustn’t take it up unless the conditions were… and he spelled them out in great detail, with Bodie obligingly taking notes and not pointing out that he’d memorised all of this in order to get his licence. The weather wasn’t good for that week, but Bodie didn’t mind. He was finding the commute much easier these days, now that Anis had introduced him to the various radio stations and they were thinking about using them as the focus of one of the chapters; they both listened for at least an hour each morning, making notes, and getting very competitive about finding the most promising material.

Anis had qualified, though he said several times to Bodie that he regretted it, and was hoping fervently that he never met the right person. He definitely didn’t want children, and worked hard on resisting any feelings of attraction towards women just in case it turned out to be _the_ woman and she did want children and he somehow lost sight of his plans. Was he expecting Bodie to contribute his frustrations to these conversations? Bodie wondered at first, but soon decided that Anis just needed to talk: he’d broken up with some man called Uvira when he’d left Skina, and was now having a lot of sex and not much talk with a man who had the great advantage of being at least four years away from qualifying.

In fact, it was possible that, off-duty—for he only got talkative when they went drinking after a game of gulshor—Anis adopted a view of Bodie in which all complications were somehow banished. Married, but with no husband who had to be taken into account. No need for the drugs, but otherwise so much one of them that his hormones were sunk in a deep and restful hibernation. The unit had many people passing through it, and every month or so there would be one with questions for the permanent staff about where Bodie lived, and was he from such-and-such Station, and surely he wouldn’t be away from the unit for all of the rest of the week. Anis seemed to have radar tuned for such questions, and always passed the news on to Bodie as if it was the simplest, most-harmless joke imaginable. Bodie would seethe for days afterwards, but never managed to think of any comeback that wouldn’t mean spilling his guts.

So, although the list of people who were never going to get an honest account of Bodie’s feelings was very, very long, Anis was rarely in danger of losing his place at the top of it. When Bodie learned early in the new year that Ferros was pregnant, he never considered mentioning it to Anis, even though Anis had paid several visits to Clover and sometimes asked after the household. Bodie didn’t begrudge them their happiness, of course, but -

No, alright, he did. He did. How come _they_ got to proceed with their plans, take the news in to Raina and come out smiling? And then in the evenings now they’d take the couch, sit pressed together, and talk about the exact day when they’d decided that Ferros’ milk really was drying up, and the techniques they were trying now that Homa had to feed both girls, and how close this was to their ideal timing—all as if this talk was a huge treat that they’d been planning for him all day. He got through it by concentrating with all his will on the trust and affection that obviously lay behind it; for them, he was completely a part of the family now, wherever Ray might be. That wore dangerously thin within days, so he invented another tournament, and then took himself off for the weekend. Before he set his direction for the weekend, he found himself thinking—very, very seriously—of going to the airport and getting on the next flight to Dishna. The thought of buying his ticket for the ferry made his tear-ducts ache. But if Ray was there and saw him… There was no telling, none at all, how he would react, how far it might set him back. It had been a year now, and in that long year, nothing had happened to Ray that was enough to draw him back.


	18. Chapter 17

## Chapter 17

It was in the second month of the new year that Raina went into a sudden decline, with no obvious cause, and on the At Kamaran morning of the third week, the nurse found that she had died during the night. At about ten in the morning, Malun got a message through to Bodie; he wasn’t needed at Clover immediately, but he should cancel any plans for the evening.

The news had broken before the end of the working day. It hadn’t reached the team in the warehouse, but everyone from the offices seemed to know and you couldn’t get the train to the main gate without hearing about it. People expressed sympathy for the family, curiosity as to whether Malun would react in a way that affected life in the business, and unreserved relief. Her plight was obviously one that all of them felt deeply, whether married or not. But there was no suggestion that broadcasts might shut down for the evening: it was a personal loss, not a national one.

On the radio, it was being covered in the news bulletins on every station, and was the lead item on the local stations. Some of the obituaries concentrated on her career, others on the fact that she’d married the boss’ son, and the stations with the younger audience concentrated on the last few years and the events that their listeners would have registered at the time. A few seemed to get a good balance but they all made her sound very intimidating, not at all the type to leave those notes on the kitchen table. What had it been like for Ray and the others, knowing what she’d given up when she’d settled down at Clover? She could have had that office at the centre of the universe. She could have worn the gold mask that made the sun come up in the mornings.

Well, it didn’t appeal to Bodie, either, and he wasn’t indifferent to power. That was too much power to imagine, to really enjoy. No, she’d made the choice he could understand: the curls, the green eyes, and a home.

He’d never seen so many cars on the forecourt. The flyer was practically boxed in. Had Malun been here most of the day? They were down in the kitchen; he could hear the voices as soon as he stepped inside.

~Oh, Bodie.~ Ferros had clearly been crying for a lot of the day, but she was smiling at him easily as she stood up. He hugged her, a recognition of the level of her feelings.

~I’m sorry.~

~No. No. We’re all drinking tagna. Would you prefer deeral.~

~Please.~ He was always going to prefer their lighter wines—which they generally regarded as “training wines” for the benefit of children. Ferros got the bottle from the fridge and poured him a glass while Homa found him a chair and made space for it next to Ferros.

~This is going to be a very boring evening for you, but I’d like you to stay here with us. We need to have you here.~ She was leaning close to him, her hand laid over his.

He nodded. ~Has everyone else been here all day?~

~Mostly, yes. It’s taken us this long to stop wandering up and down the corridors saying, “I can’t believe it’s over.”~ She sighed and frowned, put a hand on her stomach and looked across the table at the twins. ~Would I want _them_ to be saying that when it’s my turn? ~

~This family has used up its stores of bad luck. It’s time to give someone else a chance.~

She smiled and stroked his hand then closed her eyes for a while, her other hand still on her stomach. Then: ~She’ll be here until about ten tomorrow morning, if you want to see her.~

~I - If it’s expected. But it wouldn’t mean anything to me.~

~It’s not. But I thought you should know the /?/.~

~When’s the -~ “When’s the funeral?”

~Next week. Malun said he’s already arranged your /?/ at work.~

~What day? Are there special clothes I need to wear?~

Slight surprise. ~It’s all week. We’ll explain later.~

~Should I go into work tomorrow?~

~I would. I think the others will. But we’ll probably be doing this again in the evening.~

~Then save a chair for me. I’ll get the next bottle of deeral.~

* * * * *

By the time they all went off to bed at about one in the morning, it was clear that there wouldn’t be a repeat the next evening. Instead, they wanted time to themselves, and there were no formal plans to meet until At Mordez, the first day of the funeral.

Bodie went to work as normal, but excused himself from the evening’s drinking. He told the team that there was an emergency in his husband’s family, and he was taking the next week off. Did they suspect? If they did, they were all bloody good actors.

It was just the three of them for supper, which wasn’t unusual, but the house did feel suddenly empty. The last of that generation gone, at least as far as this house was concerned. Lamon was in the city with West, the youngest brother. The others were probably with Malun. The night before, Ward had treated Bodie as if he wasn’t there. It wasn’t an active hostility but more as if he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him—yes, there were things that might make you think there was someone sitting in that chair, but any sensible person would know there couldn’t be. Maybe there never had been any danger that he would tell his mother what had happened.

The next morning he got up early and went for his run, fully expecting it to rain while he was out and not disappointed. He washed and changed, rinsed out his tracksuit, and made his way to the breakfast kitchen via the drying racks. It was still raining.

Ray was sitting at the table. He was holding his sister’s hand in both of his, and she was stroking the back of his neck, looking overjoyed, disbelieving, appalled. Ray’s face was turned from the door.

“Ray! Oh, Jesus! Ray!”

A jerky movement of the head and an expression of bewilderment, then seconds of frozen horror, and then a lunge towards the terrace door that was blind to all obstacles, including his sister and her chair. The sounds he was making might have been called screams if there had been more strength behind them.

Bodie fled the room, nearly fell down the stairs, and was in his bedroom, hunched over in an armchair, when he was next entirely aware of his surroundings.

Homa did knock, but didn’t wait for a response. He crossed the room slowly, and sat in the other armchair. Bodie couldn’t look at him.

“I’m so sorry. Bodie, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t we -”

“Why don’t you get the fuck out of here.” Still not looking at him.

Homa leapt to his feet, then sank down again. “Promise me you’ll stay here. Right here. We need to be able to find you.”

“Oh, you’ll find me. Get out.”

* * * * *

When one or other of them came back an hour later, they found that Bodie had barricaded the doors to the bedroom, and they took the hint very quickly, not wasting breath on questions or further apologies.

It was not until mid-afternoon that clutching pangs of hunger drove Bodie to free the door to the kitchen. He found a tray on the table, loaded with enough food for four: two pies, a cooler with butter and four cheeses, bread, fruit, two cartons of juice. Homa’s idea, or Ferros’?

There was a note on the castle’s paper next to the tray. It was written in English, with Homa’s name at the end in their script: “I’ll come back at four. If you don’t want to see me, leave the tray outside in the corridor. We’ll bring more food and anything else you ask for. Please stay here. We do need to know you’re not out in the house. I’m sorry.”

It was 3:38. Bodie sighed and dropped his head into his hands, but knew already that he would let Homa in.

* * * * *

They looked at one another over their mugs of coffee for a long time. Homa seemed to be leaving it to Bodie to choose when they would start.

“Where is he?”

“In our bedroom. With Ferros. I think he’s asleep.”

“When do you want me to move out? I’ve packed for a couple of weeks.”

“No. No. Don’t. He couldn’t help that, but he says it won’t happen again. You should stay on this side of the house, though. Keep out of the kitchen, everywhere like that. I’ve moved your car.” He pointed towards the window and the staff car park. “It’s best if you don’t meet accidentally.”

“He’s been here all along, has he? In Monor?”

“No, he’s been in Dishna. He flew in overnight, called us from the airport. I came to find you before we all went to get him, but you weren’t here.”

“I’d gone out for a run.”

“I should have left a message. I’m sorry.”

“How is he?”

“Terrible.”

“Has he kept working? What’s he been _doing_?”

“They found him a job in the Records department. He’s got some sort of flat near his work. That’s all I know.”

“So - When _was_ he going to come back, then? If this hadn’t happened? He must have had some kind of plan.”

“When he could face people again. And that sounds as if it was a few years off. He didn’t know you were here. That’s why he reacted like that.”

“Of course he knew. Malun left him a note. You know he did.”

“He didn’t read it. He thought you’d been sent home. If he’d known…” A long shake of the head, and then a long, long silence.

* * * * *

“What -” Bodie swallowed and wet his lips. “What is he saying about me? What is he thinking?”

Pained. “Don’t.”

“I have to know.”

A sigh. “He’s terrified of you. He thinks… you’re going to destroy him again. Suck the marrow out of his bones. And I think _he_ thinks he means that literally. He won’t use your name.”

~‘The animal’.~

Homa closed his eyes and averted his face, and Bodie found himself standing at the window, pounding the side of his fist against the wall, throat rasping as he made it clear to the world that he would. Not. Cry.

“Bodie. Oh, Bodie.” A hand on his shoulder.

He whirled around, not aware that he was going to do this until it was happening. Homa cried out as he was crushed against the shelves, then any further cries were swallowed by Bodie’s mouth. Bodie tore open the thick shirt with one hand, took a cruel grasp of a small, hard breast, and then pressed his hard groin against one that could never be anything but soft for him. Homa convulsed under him, and then went rigid. In the next moment, Bodie was on the other side of the room.

“Oh, Christ. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Homa looked still too shocked for anger. He rubbed his mouth, tried to pull his shirt together, rubbed his mouth again, felt his back to check the damage from the shelves.

“I’m sorry. You’re the last person I’d -”

“My wife would have your inagar for that.”

And Bodie couldn’t stop himself laughing, even when it began to hurt, really hurt. Finally, when he could no longer be sure that there weren’t tears, he gritted his teeth hard, dragged in a hissing, screaming breath, and it was over. He sagged down onto the broad window-ledge and closed his eyes, his body shaking under the residual shudderings from his rib-cage.

* * * * *

“Is it safe to sit here?” It sounded as if Homa was standing a few feet away.

“Probably not.”

But Homa sat anyway.

“I’m sorry. Oh, God. I will leave.”

“I won’t say, ‘Forget it.’ But I understand. So would Ferros, if I told her. As long as it’s not going to happen again, you should stay here. I think I should get you something to drink, some tegal juice.” Bodie nodded, and Homa got up to fetch two glasses of juice.

“How the hell do we get over this? We’re back where we started. Worse.”

“No. No. I don’t think so. He’s here. He’s talking to us. And I can tell you he was really happy to see Ferros again. That’s more than we had before. And now that he’s talking to us, he’ll have every member of his family telling him that he’s a complete fucking… sulmo if he doesn’t beg you to join him on the flight back to Dishna.”

“Except Lamon, of course, and Ward.”

“You’re wrong about Lamon. And he won’t be asking Ward, will he?”

“God. I wish I could believe it.”

“You’ll see.” He finished his fruit juice and stood up. “I should get back. Will you be here for supper? Should I bring you anything? D’you feel like company?”

“No. No, not really. Think I’ll go out for a drive. D’you want to drop in tomorrow morning though? After breakfast. Tell me what’s happening.”

* * * * *

Very little was happening. This reunion with his sister had woken in Ray a ravenous need for physical contact, and he’d spent the night with the couple in their bed.

“I hope he’ll be over the worst of this soon.” Homa wasn’t comfortable with the situation although he’d obviously been doing his best. “It’s so difficult to see him like this. I could hear him shivering all night, and Ferros says he’s freezing cold. And _he_ said it was the easiest night he’d had in months.”

Bodie’s name had not been mentioned. Ray was nowhere near ready, and Ferros and Homa had decided, in one of their few moments alone, that some serious thought was needed on tactics. Ray didn’t want the brothers and Lamon to be told yet that he had returned, although he was prepared to see Malun, who would be with them for lunch.

“I’d like to see him too. Could you ask him to come over before he leaves. I’m going to Tallin for lunch but I’ll be back before three.” Tallin had a tatty little caff where Bodie had felt instantly at home.

* * * * *

“How is he?”

Malun shrugged. “Very upset. Drained. He is trying to think now, but it’s difficult for him.”

“He didn’t read your note.”

“I know. He didn’t even see it. He hired some people to clear the apartment for him. They put it in an envelope which said where they’d found it. He threw it away.”

“Would it have made any difference?”

“He says it would have made things worse, but… that’s just how he is at the moment. He thinks he couldn’t possibly have done anything any differently.”

“Did he - Did he hear what people were saying about Embrun? When you separated them?”

“Yes. He said it made things easier. He told his doctor, his colleagues that his husband had died. He said… that’s how he’d been thinking about his husband.”

“Oh.” Bodie sighed deeply. “I suppose I could have guessed that.” Another sigh. “Does he have any good memories of when we were -”

“I can’t tell.”

“He still won’t use my name.”

“Not really. We’ve been putting things so that… he doesn’t have to.”

“Homa thinks that you’ll all… bring him around eventually.”

“I think we will. I’m sure we will. Even with the little we’ve been able to say to him so far, it must be clear the high regard we have for you, that any one of us would be proud to call you ‘husband’ regardless of… the differences.”

Bodie blinked hard, ashamed beyond measure for his assault on Homa. And there had been more than that afterwards, at night—images of rape proffered by his sub-conscious and not, at the time, refused. He moved his lips in what might be taken as a Thank You. Malun was smiling at him, fondly.

* * * * *

Homa visited after breakfast the next day, too. He and Ferros had had the bed to themselves, and Ferros had put Ray in one of the formal bedrooms on that side of the river, a room that Bodie had never seen. Ray had given Malun permission to tell the rest of the family, and they were all coming to lunch.

Bodie said he would be out for the rest of the day. “Is there anything I need to know about the funeral in case I don’t see you before then? What should I wear? When do we leave?”

“Wear something formal. Like what you wear on the days you’re working with Anis. I’ll come and collect you at ten. Ferros will probably set off with Ray and the girls a bit earlier. Did she tell you what to expect?”

Bodie shook his head. “She was going to sometime over the weekend. And then Ray showed up.”

“There’s not much to explain. It won’t take more than a few minutes on the drive in.”

* * * * *

Bodie drove, and neither of them talked much once they’d dealt with the explanation. The main ceremony each day was very simple and short—no equivalent of a priest, and no words—but they all had to be present at the tomb every day at midday, and there were rules governing the rest of the day. This first day was one of the simplest since on this day Raina Vasmar was alone, contemplating eternity in utter solitude, while her family—blood relations and those in a full, addicted marriage—stood in attendance at the prescribed distance from the tomb. No friends were allowed at the ceremonies, no one in a tolmin marriage. There must have been arguments about Bodie’s eligibility to join the core family, but there was no hint of that now. The girls were there in their own right, not to be carried by their parents, but since the girls were too young to understand what was happening or to perform the ritual actions, the cemetery provided professional mourners to help them. These professional mourners wore plain, neutral masks, like Bodie’s betrothal mask, indicating that they were not there in their own right.

The cemetery told midday with either a sundial or a clock, depending on the weather, and it was not interested in any other time of day. As the warning tones sounded, each mourner lit the wick in their own ritual lamp, then at the main tone they slid into place the glass shield that cut off most of the air, and the ceremony lasted until all of the lamps were finally out. It took about ten minutes on that first day.

Ray was some places away to Bodie’s left, between Ferros and Malun. Bodie had snatched a few oh-so-casual glimpses of him as they were taking up position, and could think of nothing else during the ceremony except the lines and bruisings of exhaustion, the strange beauty stripped by endurance to something that speared the soul. The lamp rattled in Ray’s cupped hands, clear to Bodie throughout the ceremony even over the grizzling of the girls, unsettled in the arms of strangers.

Afterwards, he got closer to him, though with the window of Ferros’ car between them. Their eyes met, and Ray accepted the gaze, seeming indifferent, as if Bodie was one of the professionals, still in his mask. Bodie had no idea what expression he should or did show. Homa settled Afmad in the back seat, next to her twin, shared a smile with his wife, and then led the way to Bodie’s car.

The rule for the rest of the day was silence and Homa had said that people generally found it easier to spend the day on their own. The staff had been given the week off: they weren’t needed, and they would definitely be in the way. Bodie went out for a long walk in the hills, bought some food from an automated shop, and spent the evening reading in his room. Much more than he had expected, he found himself thinking of Raina in her tomb. One day that would be him, and Ray the only mourner he would be allowed.

* * * * *

The next day was Nes Tara, for all those whose names were written on the stones of the tomb, or would be written there when their generation was complete. Her children and Homa and Bodie took their places by the stone that bore their names, with the girls held up to the blank stone around the corner. They were all lined up sideways on to the wall, the children just a few inches from it, and the husbands a foot or so away, behind their partners. It was crowded, and Ferros, at the front of the line, was probably the only one with a clear view of the witnesses and their lamps. In addition to Malun, Raina had had five sisters and two brothers so there were eight witnesses today; Bodie had barely been aware of the other seven the day before, but today Homa had talked about the family for most of the drive in.

The warning tones sounded and they raised their right hands so they were nearly touching their names, and on the main tone pressed their fingertips to the cold stone. Ray had angled his fingers so that their hands did not quite touch, but given the crowding he had no option but to accept Bodie’s arm around his back and Bodie’s hip against his. God, they’d all been right: he was so cold, and he never really stopped trembling. But Bodie could smell his hair and the skin of his neck, and he smelled just the same. Bodie looked at that proud, vulnerable neck and his heart clenched and blood pumped to his cock, so he closed his eyes and the smell was still there and his cock throbbed ever hotter.

He never knew exactly when the lamps went out, but suddenly all her children seemed to sigh at once and then Ray was moving away from him. Bodie headed straight for the car, not in the mood to tag along with Homa while he did the father bit. By the time the man slid into the passenger seat, Bodie had forced himself through many replays of Ray’s reaction in the kitchen and he no longer had an erection.

“The girls seemed happier today.”

“Yes. I think they had different Agusah. Though they might just have been more used to them.”

“Will you and Ferros be buried here?” He must have seen the position of the masks between their names, but he’d never registered which of them had taken which rôle.

“Yes.”

So Homa had been on top on the wedding night. _Oh, damn!_ Bodie squirmed in his seat, cursing the lapse of foresight that had made the question seem like innocuous small-talk. He cast around for a truly innocuous response, but failing, lapsed into silence.

The rule for this day and the remaining days was that the participants—those allowed to approach Raina and her tomb that day—should spend the rest of the day together, at least to the extent of eating meals together. Homa told Bodie that Ferros had made it clear to all of her siblings that they would be treating the rule very strictly, and they’d all nodded and said, ~Of course.~ As you would, with Ferros.

They gathered first in the library, with several bottles of wine including chilled deeral for Bodie. Deeral used to be Ray’s choice too, in Parass, but not now. Ray got a book from the shelves and took an armchair in front of the windows that looked out onto the waterfall. Bodie took a seat on a couch at the other side of the room, but with the clearest available view of Ray. The others were nearby, playing with the girls.

“You don’t have to sit there pretending we’re interesting, you know.” Ferros had sat next to him, smiling. “If I were you, I’d go and get one of your books. Maybe two. It _is_ going to be a long day.”

“OK. Yeah.” Bodie currently had two books underway, anyway: **_The New Centurions_** , a straightforward American cop novel, and **_Black Lamb and Grey Falcon_** , a travel book about Yugoslavia which Foyles had somehow filed under Military History. Back on the couch, he took up the travel book, knowing it wasn’t going to win his undivided attention, and having definite plans for the remainder of that attention.

* * * * *

Ray’s glass had been empty for more than five minutes. Casually, oh, so casually, Bodie closed his book, laid it on the couch, ambled across to the table to get the current bottle of the darker wine, and then was closing the distance to the windows. The others stopped talking within seconds, and then suddenly started again, too loud.

“Top you up, Ray?”

The head lifted, then turned, very slowly. Those eyes. Those lips. “Love” was far too small a word for this blaze of feeling.

~I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand what you said.~

Bodie staggered and the bottle nearly slid from his hand. He stared, pleading with his eyes, but that face could have been a mask. Finally, feeling pulped inside, but knowing that he should have expected this, that it would be worth it, he said, ~Can I pour you some more wine?~

~Thank you, yes.~ So very polite, but he had turned back to his book before Bodie had even started tilting the bottle.

Bodie retraced his steps, face attempting the same indifference as his husband’s. He couldn’t make sense of a single word of his book. Could Ray, with _his_ book? Could he _really_?

* * * * *

Homa had learned his lesson and it was at least a quarter of an hour before he approached Bodie.

“Ferros is looking for some help setting lunch up. I said I’d ask you.”

Bodie nodded, and the three of them headed down to the kitchen. For a while they were occupied in slicing bread and salad vegetables, arranging them on plates, and getting the other crockery ready, but the rice for the stew was not the quick-boiling type.

“You don’t have to stay with us for lunch, you know. You’ve more than met the spirit of the day.”

Bodie looked at her, his expression bleak. “How far have I set things back?”

“By showing that you’re as loyal as a vinsa and as brave as a turku? Oh, years. But it’s stupid to try and keep that up all day long. I think you should give yourself a rest. See how things are tomorrow.”

Bodie mangled a slice of bread as he thought about the offer. “No, I’ll do lunch. And supper. You weren’t planning on taking them all to the gym, were you?” Ferros shook her head. “I’ll be there or in my rooms then, if you need me.”

* * * * *

Throughout the two meals, the others showed some skill in sparing them any decisions regarding eye contact. At lunch, Bodie didn’t speak and no one tried to make him, but by supper he’d decided—with a conviction of utter necessity that still did not spare him an ounce of humiliation—that he would speak only in Hass Embrun. Was it pity, then, or respect that drove Lamon when she turned and started her first genuine conversation with him? And what about Ward, trusting the evidence of his eyes enough to pass the butter in Bodie’s direction at the appropriate time?

* * * * *

The next day was Nes Dana, for the blood relatives, when all but Bodie and Homa stood in front of the entrance to the tomb. Raina’s brothers and sisters were on the highest step, then the children on the next, and the girls below that. At the tones, those who could reached out to touch the shoulders of the generation in front. Ray had his eyes closed throughout, his face solemn, absorbed, and Bodie forgave him for all he had done, and all he might still do.

Bodie’s car was the only one taking the road back to the castle that day, since Malun was hosting the gathering of the participants. Homa had arranged to Pay a visit to his twin and to the other members of his family within a day’s drive, so Bodie had the castle entirely to himself.

His first thought was to find the bedroom that Ferros had given Ray, and when he did find it, he was mildly surprised that the door was not locked against him. The room looked over the river and in shape was almost a mirror image of the one they’d shared. The colours were lighter, though, less regal and impressive. Apart from the viewer and the glass of water by the bed, there was no obvious sign that the room was in use. What did Ray do in here, on his own?

He had brought one spare formal suit, four spare formal shirts, all identical to the one he was wearing today, and one and a half changes of casual clothes. Bodie knelt by the open drawer, pressed the crumpled cream shirt to his face, and remembered touching this shirt and feeling Ray’s supple warmth beneath it. In the bathroom, the toothpaste was a different brand, one that Bodie would have to spit out instantly, and the toiletries were arranged far too neatly on the shelf. The drug—for what else could it be?—came in little square boxes which each held nine shiny black capsules. There was one box at the front of shelf, with three capsules gone, and three full ones stacked at the back of the shelf. Assuming it was one a day, did this mean that Ray thought he might stay for several weeks? Or was he that frightened of running out?

At least he was still shockingly bad at picking up towels. Automatically, Bodie reached down and started to smooth and fold, but let the towel drop after a few seconds. No, the heap was still too neat, too obvious. He picked it up by a corner then dropped it again, and this time it looked like a towel that had been through Ray’s hands.

Back in the bedroom, he took his shoes off and lay down on Ray’s side of the bed, feeling… very little. A shuffle over to his own side and he felt, yes, slightly more. But still much less than he’d expected to feel. He thought he’d be here with his trousers down, celebrating such a close approach to so many of his fantasies of the past year. Instead, he felt empty, and if it was indeed blood that his heart was pushing around his veins, then it did not seem to be his own.

* * * * *

The next day, the fourth, was Nes Esmanal, for those married to the blood-line. Bodie and Homa had spent a lot of their drives discussing what they were going to do with their day together—depending on the weather. It was calm and fine and forecast to remain so, and Malun was entirely happy to let Bodie take the flyer in those conditions. The flyer was in the hangar, and Homa hung back and talked to Malun while Bodie performed the checks.

Bodie took them around the islands. On the more-populated ones, they generally landed only long enough to pick up a sandwich or something to drink, but some had buildings or views that Homa wanted to see and Bodie didn’t regret the detours. They saved the food for the deserted islands, the ones that most of the guide books simply dismissed as “inaccessible”.

Homa was obviously thinking a lot about his dealings with the family. Every now and again he’d feel compelled to tell Bodie a bit more about his first meetings with Ferros in college, about getting over the idea of her being a Bakkel, about meeting the rest of the family, about the order in which they qualified, about their life before they moved into the castle, about his hopes for the future. None of it was uncomfortably personal, and he didn’t expect anything from Bodie in return. He was obviously a happy man, secure in the knowledge that he made his wife happy, that they would make their children happy.

As planned, they returned the flyer to the hangar before it got dark, and then set off for Homa’s favourite, birthday-treat restaurant which was in the area of the city where he and Ferros had first lived together. They’d agreed that he would pay, since Bodie had paid for the fuel. The pace was leisurely and after a glass of wine Homa stopped talking about himself and Ferros and asked Bodie about his family, back on Earth, and Bodie gave some reasonably honest answers.

“You know, if I’d met you through work or something while Ray was still with… I can’t remember his name. Then I’d have been scheming with Ferros to set the two of you up together.”

Bodie snorted. “Maybe that’s my best bet. Change my name. Grow a moustache. Then arrange to bump into him in the supermarket.”

They got home gone ten and went to Bodie’s rooms for coffee and spirits. Homa chose something subdued and instrumental from Bodie’s stock of music cards and they settled in for their last hour and a half.

Strangely, Homa seemed less relaxed in these conditions. Bodie wondered for a while what it was he’d said, then decided the twitchings and frowns must be something physical—the armchair all wrong for his back, maybe. But then Bodie went to the cupboard for the bottle of Drambuie, and turned back to find Homa kneading his left breast and grimacing. He looked up, grinned, gave one last squeeze and let his hand drop.

“I’ve been spoilt. First time I’ve gone this long without being milked.”

Bodie went red, spun back to the cupboard, opened it, shut it, then got back to the chaise longue without meeting Homa’s eye and with his face still burning.

“Ganso! I’m sorry. I thought you’d got used to all this.”

“I -” Bodie licked his lips and managed to look up. “It gets to me sometimes. Gut reaction. Can’t do anything about it. Sorry.”

Large Drambuies helped them over that, then a mild argument over the next music-card, and before long they were into their last half hour.

“Bodie…” Far too quiet. It was the first time Bodie had seen one of them unmistakably drunk. He raised his eyebrows. “What have you been doing about sex?”

Christ, who’d have thought he was _that_ drunk, though? “Getting very friendly with my right hand. What d’you think?”

“But… you’ve got someone here, haven’t you? In Dishna?”

“I’m a married man. You think I don’t know what that means?”

“I don’t see… If you _can_ , if it’s like _that_ , how you…?”

“Let’s pretend you did the smart thing and kept your mouth shut, shall we?”

Homa frowned, thinking about it, then gave a vague nod and held his smeared glass up to the light.

Finally, it was midnight. “C’mon, Homa. Time to pack you off to your wife. God, feel I should get you a cab.” Bodie led him through the bedroom and opened the door, but Homa wasn’t ready to leave. He beamed at Bodie, then took a step towards him, arms outstretched. Bodie backed away, palms held up to ward him off.

No offence taken, because he thought Bodie just didn’t understand yet. “It’s been a good day. We’re friends. It’s what friends do.”

“Not where I come from. Yes, we’re friends, but we won’t be if you try that again. God, you’ve got a short memory.”

“Oh. But -”

“No. Time to go. Another long day tomorrow.”

That worked. Bodie watched until he’d meandered around the corridor, then closed the door, shaking his head and smiling. The placid could be such hard work.

* * * * *

The next day was Nes Ilio, when Raina was welcomed to the land of the dead by those she had known: parents, grandparents, her husband. Had he been in withdrawal too, these years? Bodie might even have asked what their religion believed on that, but the others were all very withdrawn for hours after the ceremony, almost as if they’d been able to see Raina’s dead when the tones had called them to the tomb. There were no rules for that day, or not for the living.

Bodie pottered around his rooms for a while, nagged by the suspicion that they did actually expect him to be doing something particular today—but he hadn’t understood when they’d explained. Wouldn’t be the first time. Ha. Ha.

No. No good. He was just too restless and too hungover to hope to get into any religious frame of mind. Time to go for a run. All of his tracksuits were in the drying room, so he had to go downstairs to fetch one.

When he came back, he found Ray in his bedroom, kneeling in front of the opened wardrobe. His left hand was clutching the shirt that Bodie had been wearing the day before, crushing it to his face, and his right hand was wrapped around his cock, which seemed bigger and hungrier than Bodie had ever seen it. His breathing was harsh and pained.

Bodie stood, frozen and unnoticed, forgetting to breath and then panting, still unnoticed. His erection was like a fist thrust between his legs, an assault. In his mind, there was the hardness of the floor under his knees, the hardness of Ray’s thighs under his hands, the hardness of Ray’s cock against his tongue. In his mind, also, Ray was slamming him back against the wall, and this time finding the way to break his skull.

Ray was about to come. He wanted to see it. He wanted to see it. But… It felt as if he was having to grow new nerves in order to get the signals through to his legs. Left: Up. Forward. Down. Right: Up. Forward. Down. He wasn’t quite in the corridor when the groan sounded, but at least he was behind the screen of the wardrobe door. No, don’t stop, don’t listen. Up. Forward. Down. The terrible, exhausted gasps continued for _so_ long—they faded only with Bodie’s distance, not with time.

Bodie stumbled through the first door that came in view, which was to one of his unused bedrooms. Ray would just go straight out into the corridor, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t take a long way, though here? Bodie couldn’t be sure, but he couldn’t afford to venture out into the corridor again, so he shut the door, hobbled to the far side of the bed, and crouched down to be out of sight. At the pressure of this movement on his cock, he instinctively cupped his hand around it to soothe it, rearrange it, and after that contact he could think of nothing else until it was freed and in his hand.

* * * * *

How much time had passed? Could Ray still be there in his room? About half an hour—he’d dozed off. But maybe Ray had too. He couldn’t take the risk of walking in on him again. But it would give it away if he started knocking on his own door. OK. He’d put some music on in the kitchen, run the water, clatter around. That should work.

Oh, God. He’d dropped the tracksuits. Hadn’t he? Left the door open, too. Oh, shit. Well, nothing to be done about that now.

After about ten minutes of music and clattering and three minutes of listening at the door, he decided to take the risk. Ray was gone, but… If Bodie hadn’t known, he might not have caught the scent, but he was sure that it was there. The door was shut and his tracksuits had been moved further inside the room, against the wall. Kicked, or actually picked up? Hard to say. The wardrobe doors were shut, and the shirt was back in the laundry drawer. Bodie spread it over his hands, rubbed the material between his fingertips. It was a clean shirt, perfectly fit to be worn again, though now in need of ironing. Was that all that Ray needed from him? Held in something that had been against his skin more than fourteen hours ago. God.

Was this the first time Ray had done this? Bodie took the next shirt from the drawer—probably the previous one, the one he’d been wearing when he lay on Ray’s bed. Was it more crumpled than normal? Were those creases from Ray’s fingers? It would have been Ray’s best chance, and really his only one so far: the day when Bodie and Homa had told everyone that they wouldn’t be back before ten.

Reckless today, though. A sign of desperation? Yesterday’s fix enough to smash that heroic control? _I don’t want to do that to him._ Oh, you do, Bodie, you do. And you must. _But not like that._ No, not like that.

Ray knew that he’d seen. And he would have done much to avoid that, but it was done. So how could it be any worse for either of them if he took his shirts straight to Ray? Knocked, say, and then opened the door enough so he could leave the shirt inside on the floor. Starting tomorrow morning? Or maybe tonight, so he got it fresh and had all night to breath it in. Tonight. Make it tonight.

* * * * *

After Bodie had put it through a long, hard run and a couple of powerful sexual fantasies, Bodie’s tracksuit top was definitely not clean. At midnight, he took it off, folded it neatly—because it was a present—pulled on the T-shirt that he was going to sleep in, and made his way quickly and quietly along the moonlit gallery to Ray’s door.

~Who’s that?~ The question had come immediately, so he’d probably been wide awake. He sounded exhausted, though. What had he been doing with _his_ day?

There was a light on in the room, probably the bedside light. Bodie knelt, laid his gift on the carpet as carefully as he could manage, then stood again to close the door. He took a different way back, through winding corridors, not wanting to be caught in the great length of the gallery in case Ray should come after him.

* * * * *

The next two days were similar to the previous one in that the living were there only as witnesses, and were under no rules for the rest of the day. In Nes Arto, Raina was introduced to her other dead, those she had not known, and Nes As was dedicated to those who would be born into the family in the future, or would marry into it.

Bodie made two deliveries to Ray’s room on each day: the night’s T-shirt early in the morning, and the day’s shirt late at night. He wasn’t sure if Ray had been in the room at any of those times since there had been no response when he knocked. The light had been on each night, so he probably was there. He was probably sitting up in bed, waiting.

Was it making any difference to him? He wouldn’t want Bodie staring at him, trying to decide, so Bodie didn’t. Maybe after a year without it would take months.

* * * * *

The eighth day was their last drive to the cemetery. It was Nes Anlin, for all the living, with one masked professional acting as witness. They stood on the top step with their backs to the tomb, distributed in no particular order or spacing. Bodie had Raina’s oldest sister to his left—possibly the oldest Hailin he’d met—and the green-eyed girl to his right. He smiled at her as they were waiting and she smiled back and started babbling at him, and for the first time in many days he remembered what it was like to be happy.

Ferros had called in some of the staff to help with the food for the day, but they were gone by the time the family got back. Bodie was still taking the side road around to the staff car-park although it didn’t seem to be necessary any longer. Homa hadn’t said anything about it, but then he got such a kick out of the walk through the tunnel and was on first-name terms with all of the animals in the lamp-holders, especially that tubby little swamp-rat with the belligerent glare.

They ate in the formal dining hall, and Bodie again found himself next to the eldest sister, Miosa, who seemed to be well into her seventies. Did she know who he was? She must do, Malun must have explained. She and her husband had both been teachers, had written textbooks together while they were raising their children—two singles, then two twins—and her husband had died of alsentor (a heart attack?) shortly before Savas’ ship was lost. She obviously missed her husband but seemed remarkably well. Maybe it had been a tolmin marriage? They had children, Bodie, so it couldn’t have been. Each time with this, he had to take a moment to think it through. Did the addiction fade with time, then? _“Premature.”_ Wasn’t that something Malun had said about Savas’ death? So one day Ray would be cured of him. Which of their gods had earned his people that last mercy? Or did they see it as a fall from grace, as another work of Gagras?

Ray was on the other side of the table, between Malun and Ferros. Bodie allowed himself only one glance, at the beginning, and the room was too noisy for him to listen in, but when Ray laughed the sound seemed to be everywhere, and to last forever.

After lunch, they were left free to amuse themselves in any of the public rooms in the front of the house, although they had to keep the doors of these rooms open. Bodie took his glass of wine and his Yugoslavia book to the far end of the gallery that overlooked the waterfall. After half an hour, he decided he’d probably have the place to himself for the rest of the afternoon—no one else had even popped their head around the door.

What with the noise from the waterfall and the fact that he’d now discovered how the book had got into Military History, he didn’t notice Ray until the man was almost standing over him. Ray met his eyes briefly, expression now… some complex form of neutrality, rather than denial. He had the bottle of deeral and he’d come to refill Bodie’s glass. As far as Bodie could judge, his hands no longer had that tremble.

~Thank you.~

A nod, and Ray left as quietly as he’d arrived. Bodie stayed in the gallery for another hour, though he didn’t get much reading done. By the end of that time he’d decided on the next step. The last day of the funeral would be Nes Mabein, when Raina had an appointment with the gods. The mourners were not allowed to attend, but they had to spend the entire day in silence. This meant that if he wanted to speak to Ray in time, it would have to be today—and it might as well be now.

He couldn’t find Ray in any of the rooms so he waited until Ferros came out of the crowded library into the gallery, where he could speak to her in proper privacy.

“Do you know where Ray is?”

She pointed to the ceiling. “I think he’s up on the terraces. This _would_ probably be a good time.”

Ray was up on one of the higher levels, and it took Bodie some minutes to find him. He was sitting on a stone chair in a small area that was crowded with greenery. The flowers were still subdued, but there was none of the meanness of winter. He looked up as Bodie was near the top of the steps. There was the same neutral expression—maybe he’d caught sight of Bodie much earlier and had time to prepare.

~I was wondering when you are going back to Dishna.~

~On At Mordez.~ The Monday, the day after tomorrow, as Bodie had expected.

~What time is your flight?~

~Eleven. Just after.~

~Ah. Then it would be easier for Ferros and Homa to drive you. If it was earlier, I could have taken you on my way in to work. But you won’t want to wait for four hours.~

A smile. A small but genuine smile. ~Not really. Thank you, though.~

~If I don’t talk to you before you leave, have a good flight.~

~Thank you.~

Bodie produced his own version of that smile, as genuine as he could manage, and then turned and made his way back down again. Once inside, he went to the preparation room next to the dining hall and filled a plate with leftovers, having found himself suddenly hungry.

It had been much as he’d expected, maybe better. There had been a faint possibility that Ray had booked an early flight so he could get into work for the full day, but it had been more likely that he was taking the day off and had booked a flight that would demand less of Ferros. Would they have been able to cope with the drive, anyway? Why not, since they’d got so good at this civil silence?

Screaming panic to a distant politeness in just over a week. Who could ask for anything more?


	19. Chapter 18

## Chapter 18

It felt very strange being back at work, as if he’d been gone for much more than a week. He told Anis immediately that he was only fit for tasks in their “Mindless” list, and Anis left him alone for most of the day.

When he got home, he went to his rooms to change before supper, and found a stack of clothes laid neatly on his bed, the tracksuit top on the bottom of the stack, then formal shirts, then T-shirts. From the smell, they’d all been washed, and they’d obviously had a thorough iron. Bodie swallowed, and brushed the back of his hand over the first T-shirt. Just another distant politeness? Or something more?

If Ray had done the laundering yesterday—and when else would he have had the opportunity?—then he wouldn’t have been able to include last night’s shirt or this morning’s T-shirt. Bodie counted back through the days as he sorted the clothes out into sets, and, yes, they were missing. In Ray’s bedroom, maybe? Bodie hurried around to check, but the room was now completely bare. God, that was going to keep him going for weeks, months: knowing that Ray was prepared to take even that much of him home.

* * * * *

“Did he get his flight OK?”

“He must have. We didn’t wait to see him off.”

“Did he…” Bodie shrugged. “… say anything?”

“Not very much. That it had been good to see us. Nothing about coming back. About keeping in touch.”

“So he’s gone into hiding again.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’ll write to us tomorrow. I think it was much better than he expected. Don’t you?” Homa nodded his confirmation.

* * * * *

There was no message. Bodie checked every hour that evening and at work the next day, and by the weekend he’d given up. At least Ray hadn’t shipped his clothes back to him yet. Either the mana in them were still working, or Ray found their presence tolerable even when they weren’t. Reasons not to mope. It was a long, long week for him, and he took advantage of every distraction he was offered.

From what Malun said at their An Udom Kol lunch, all of the family felt a cautious optimism regarding Ray, and they were giving the credit to themselves and to the eternal truths expressed through the funeral ceremonies. Bloody typical. It was hard to tell what they’d said to Ray about him or whether Ray had ever showed any interest in him, and Bodie couldn’t bring himself to ask.

Another At Mordez but now Bodie was in the mood for some hard work. He’d get the rhythm going again soon enough, and the weeks would spin themselves along. What chance of another funeral, though? No, Bodie, no.

* * * * *

 It was nearly midnight on At Laura Var, almost exactly halfway through the working week, and Bodie was sitting up in bed, needing to read a few pages of the Yugoslavia book before he turned off the light. Without warning, the door opened, and then Ray was in the room, and the door shut again behind him. He had his finger to his lips, and Bodie saw while still gathering his exclamation, and managed to obey.

Ray came over to the bed. Bodie sat up further and took hold of the hem of the T-shirt, about to pull it off and hand it over. Then he remembered, and he spoke in a whisper: “I’ve -” ~I’ve just put it on. I don’t think it will be what you need. I can get you today’s shirt.~ He pointed at the wardrobe.

The other man just shook his head and came even closer until his thighs touched the bed. He took hold of the hem at the side, gave it two tugs upwards and then released it—which suggested that he wanted Bodie to go ahead. Bodie did, and held the T-shirt out. Ray took it, then walked around the foot of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt with one hand. Bodie’s pulse had leapt into overdrive.

The Y-fronts stayed on, and Ray did not appear to share Bodie’s excitement in the slightest. Run out of mana, obviously. And he did have that exhausted look today. _I’ll soon bring him out of that._ God, was this really happening? So quickly, so simply?

Ray slid into bed, just as he used to, and into Bodie’s arms.

~Oh. You _are_ cold. Can I warm you? What can I do? ~

~Lie down. Let me lie with you.~

Bodie shifted down in the bed then reached back awkwardly to tug the pillows flat, and Ray moved with him, settling in a curl over his side, face turned towards his armpit. Bodie held him close with an arm across his shoulders. The trembling was back, as if he was cold down to his marrow. Bodie’s pulse slowed as real life intruded over his fantasies.

~Should I turn off the light?~

~If you’re ready to sleep. I’m here for the night.~

Bodie arched up and hit the switch at the side of the bed. They lay quietly, or fairly quietly: Ray’s breathing was a statement of effort, and Bodie’s still far from calm.

~Have you got an erection?~ Bodie understood every word of that, thanks to Anis’ weird sense of humour.

~Yes. A bit.~

~Can you /?/? I’ll help, if it _would_ help.~

Slowly, with his pulse thudding in his throat: ~Help? How?~

“How” was Ray’s left hand, down between his legs so fast Bodie mistrusted what his nerves were telling him. Practised, it freed him from his Y-fronts, explored his balls, then mapped his length so he groaned his appreciation. He thought at first it would be quick and basic, but Ray eased off, returned to his balls, teased the inside of his thighs, then rediscovered him, and it was prolonged, and delicious. When it was clear that he was close, Ray raised himself up to kneel over him, and then flat on top as soon as it started, so that both bellies felt the jolts and the trickling warmth.

After some time, when Bodie’s breathing had steadied, Ray raised himself and Bodie felt him stretching over to the side. There was a murmur of fabric and then a soft bundle was being pressed onto Bodie’s stomach. Bodie put his hand on it, over Ray’s, and it seemed to be his T-shirt.

~Will you put it on, now?~

Bodie swallowed, suddenly apprehensive though he couldn’t have explained why. He nodded then started to sit up, and Ray moved off to the side. It took some fumbling to get the T-shirt the right way out—though did that matter?—and then he pulled it on and smoothed it over his damp, sticky skin, giving it a good start on soaking up his juices. He lay down, pulled his Y-fronts back up, and then Ray moved into his arms again.

~I’ll be getting up at six. Just to warn you. Or is that right for your flight?~

~Yes, you said you got up early. I’ll probably go home and get some more sleep. I didn’t fly.~

~Oh. You mean you didn’t get on the flight the other week? Ferros said they didn’t wait until you left.~

~I got the transporter.~

~Oh. Of course.~ He yawned hugely. ~I’m sorry, Ray. I _am_ tired. ~

~Then sleep.~

* * * * *

When he woke in the pre-dawn light, Ray was still beside him, asleep. He reached out and laid the back of his fingers very lightly on the other man’s shoulder, and at the feel of the fine, warm skin, at the knowledge that it was Ray’s, he felt a thrill all the way down the centre of his body, from the hollow of his throat to his balls. Warm. Ray was warm. And breathing easily. Was that all it took?

His cock was on the rise again. What was the time? Coming up to half five. Plenty of time to make it a good fuck. He wanted… God, he wanted everything. A proper taste of Ray’s cock, Ray tight and perfect around him, Ray covering him, pinning him to the mattress. Oh. No lubricant. Unless Ray had brought some. Well, they could save that till next time.

Unable to wait any longer, he lifted his hand from the shoulder to the pillow, and ran his fingertips across Ray’s lips. A slow grunt, and the eyes opened.

~Good morning, Ray.~

The prince blinked. ~Is it time to get up?~ His voice was rough.

Bodie grinned. ~Well, I already _am_ up. I was wondering about you. ~

A slight pause. ~No. Sorry.~

~Soon, though?~ Eager and confident.

~I don’t know, Bodie. Not today.~ The prince was fully awake now. He seemed solemn and almost resigned.

~A kiss, then?~

Now solemn and determined. The prince raised himself up on an elbow, pushed Bodie back onto the pillow, then leaned over to press his lips lightly to Bodie’s cheek. ~That’s all I can give you at the moment. I’m sorry.~

Bodie sighed deeply and rubbed his hand hard over his face. ~Well. I shouldn’t have expected this to be easy. I didn’t think I’d see you again for another year, so…~

~I couldn’t stay away.~

Bodie nodded. ~Has it helped?~

~It’s helped.~ He leaned close again, and kissed the other cheek, keeping the contact for longer this time. ~You’re a good husband, Bodie.~

~So does this mean - Can we -~ “God, Ray, I’ve missed you so much. I want us to go home.”

But the prince was shaking his head. Bodie closed his eyes, and kept them closed. ~I’m sorry.~ Gentle touches to his hair, his forehead, his chin. ~I’m not - It’s best if you stay here. If I just visit.~

Bodie opened his eyes, found Ray’s very close: sad, but full of affection. ~When will you be back? Tomorrow?~

~I - I’d like to come for the weekend. From At Oba Nyon evening at about ten? To when you go to work on At Mordez morning.~

“I’d love that.” ~Do you - Does Ferros or anyone know you’re here?~ The prince shook his head. ~And that’s how you want to keep it?~

~I - Yes. I can’t explain why.~

“Just as long as I know. A bit of intrigue. Even better.”

Another kiss, this time to the lips, and very brief. “You’re a good husband, Bodie. I’m very lucky.”

Bodie was still partially erect when the alarm went off. He got up quickly, went down to the bathroom, and brought himself off before stripping off the T-shirt and wiping himself down with it. Had to make sure Ray got everything that was going. It was a relief to get into the shower, like starting again on a new, simple life.

He went back to the bedroom naked and found Ray up and dressed, and the bed made.

~There you are. I can give you yesterday’s shirt, too, if you like.~

~No, this is better. Thank you.~ The prince folded the T-shirt up and put it carefully in the pocket of his jacket.

Bodie dressed quickly. ~What would you like for breakfast? Do you still drink coffee?~

~It’s too early for me, thanks. I usually get something in the canteen before my shift starts.~

~Of course. It’s the middle of the night for you. What about coffee? _Do_ you still drink it? ~

A shake of the head, then a smile. ~I’ll start again this weekend, though.~

The prince leaned against the kitchen counter while Bodie was making and inhaling his breakfast. The conversation was still a shade too polite, but easy enough to make it obvious to Bodie how lonely he’d actually been in the past year, despite the best efforts (if “effort” it had been) of Malun and Homa and the rest. Nice people, but not what he needed to feel that he was home.

~Where did you arrive? With the transporter?~

Grinning: ~The freight room. It was the only place whose coordinates I knew.~

Bodie laughed. ~I have to see this when you go back. Where did they hang your tag?~

The prince rubbed his thumb underneath the badge pinned to the breast of his jacket. ~No, once was enough. I’ll go back from somewhere in here. /?/ a new set of coordinates. Maybe right here.~

Bodie scratched his chin, frowning. ~So you’d arrive at these new coordinates on At Oba Nyon?~ At the prince’s nod, he shook his head, decisively. ~Not here, then. Ferros and Homa sometimes visit for a drink. It would be better if you used one of the other bedrooms.~ He pointed towards the one next door. ~I don’t think anyone ever goes in them.~ Well, the staff must, of course, to clean, but if Ray wouldn’t be arriving during the working day, then that didn’t matter.

~I’ll use that one, then.~

Bodie was running late. He got down his flask, poured the remains of his mug of coffee into it, and then his second-mug’s-worth from the coffee maker. ~I have to go. Can I see you leave?~

~Of course.~ The prince led the way into the other bedroom then turned to put his arms around Bodie. ~Thank you. I don’t know why you’re making this so easy.~

“Because I love you.”

A swallow and a shaky smile. ~Oh, Bodie. Goodbye.~ And then he was gone, leaving only a brief tang like scorched mint in the air.

* * * * *

Bodie had never felt so glad of the steady, undemanding routine of Cargo. You could spend the entire day—or two days, or three—in a speechless daze, and still give value for money. On that first day, he invented some business at the company shop in order to get away from the team for lunch, but by the second day he could at least pretend to follow a conversation.

How was it possible to be so happy yet so deflated at the same time? Bubblingly warm, yet chilled? Ray was glad to be with him. He believed that. And who could blame Ray, with a year of the withdrawal behind him, for making it clear what it was he needed most? Of course, it would take time. And maybe some things would be changed forever. But they’d made a good start, hadn’t they? A good start.

* * * * *

From that first evening, he went back to using the staff car-park, with the idea that it wouldn’t be as obvious as waiting until the weekend. He told Homa that he’d got used to the walk through the tunnel and to the view of the castle from the second bridge. Homa and Ferros invited him for a drink after supper the next day, possibly as a way to figure out if he was actually avoiding them, and he accepted to show that he wasn’t.

He also sent a message to Malun, asking if they could change their An Udom Kol lunches to dinners on some evening midweek, and he gave no reason. Malun suggested At Laura Var and Bodie agreed. Even if Ray did visit on At Laura Var evenings, they could make sure that it was late enough that Bodie would be back from dinner. And who said that Bodie had to be there when he arrived, anyway? What a change it would make to the drive home, knowing that Ray was in his rooms, waiting for him.

* * * * *

On the way home that At Oba Nyon night, Bodie got a couple of bottles of wine, a bottle of kumusi, the liqueur they used to drink, and bits and pieces of food in case Ray came straight from work without eating. He knew he wouldn’t be able to behave normally at supper, and it seemed simplest to stay out of their way and let them think that he’d gone drinking with the team. A run, instead, to kill time, and to prepare a welcome for Ray.

He wanted to be in the bedroom to watch Ray arrive, but it seemed unfair, almost like spying on him. Better to leave the door open between the kitchen and the bedroom—knowing when he arrived, but leaving him time to recover and make his own way through to the kitchen.

The anticipation had the predictable effect on Bodie’s libido, and he dealt with this in the way he thought Ray would want, judging by At Laura Var night. He’d pretty-much accepted this as the pattern of his sex-life for the foreseeable future: wanks in the bathroom before and after sharing a bed with Ray, and wet and heated dreams.

Ten o’clock. The brief, clear crackling, like a spark across a short gap. Ray came through the door almost immediately, smiling and eager, a small backpack slung across one shoulder. They held one another tight, then Bodie drew away and held the back of his hand to the prince’s face.

~You’re a _bit_ cold, aren’t you? ~

~I suppose so. I hadn’t really noticed.~

~You’ve just come from work?~

~Yes.~

~What do you want to do? Get changed? I’ve got wine. There’s food if you’re hungry.~

~A cup of kenit would be good.~

Bodie’s face fell. He never drank kenit outside of work, and there only because couldn’t avoid it.

~Oh, never mind. I should have thought and brought my own.~

Bodie had an idea. ~The kitchen. There’ll be kenit in the kitchen. Do you want to start the water while I go and look?~

He came back with an entire unopened pack. Ray had set up a mug for him too, and had found the box of PG Tips. ~Or did you want coffee?~

~No, that’ll be great.~

They settled at one end of the chaise longue, the prince close inside the circle of Bodie’s arm. After some minutes’ silence, the prince started drumming his fingers on his kneecap, and Bodie began wondering what he was working up to say.

“English. Let’s get back to speaking in English. When I speak to you in my head, it’s always in English, so this has been…”

“Suits me.”

“You’ve got bloody good, though. I must have been a fucking useless teacher.”

“You know you weren’t. Anis is a sadistic bastard, that’s the difference. Yeah, it works with me, but I wouldn’t want to live with him.”

“What’s he do to you, then?” and Bodie explained, at length.

* * * * *

Once the prince had unwound from the day’s work with his cup of kenit, they started on the wine.

“And speaking about speaking English…” The prince was shaking his head. “… I am so sorry. That was - Well, I know I’ve done worse things in anger, but that was…”

Bodie shrugged. “Wasn’t a good time or place. Stupid choice.”

“Part of it was… being so close to you at Nes Tara. I was breathing you in and I could feel the difference immediately and… I was supposed to be thinking about my mother, about Nes Pas Waru, and all I could think was… how I’d known that I’d be in gimana for the rest of my life, how I’d learnt ways of living with it. And even finding you there, I was sure that by then you’d have stopped producing my mana.” At Bodie’s puzzled look: “It’s the most common form of the glarus mutation. The glarus seems to be bonded normally, then just stops producing the mana, stops needing them—if he ever did. I told myself that it would be the same with you. You might think that I’d be glad to find out that it wasn’t, but… at first it was…” He sighed.

“I know. You’d got into a rhythm. Something happens to break your stride, you can find yourself flat on your back, racking your brains to remember which foot is which.”

A broad smile. “Something like that. But I shouldn’t be making excuses. You should have heard Ferros the next day, at Malun’s house. She dragged me out into the garden, said something like, ‘I don’t need to know exactly what happened between you and Bodie. But I know you. And I know Bodie. And this is my carefully considered comment.’ And she did that thing with my nose and my ear that hurt so bloody much when we were kids. I can tell you she’s still in practice.”

Bodie laughed. “I’ve got quite fond of your family.”

“I’ll sell them to you. Bargain price.”

* * * * *

They stayed up until gone one, trying to reach a compromise between their two time-zones. Bodie had cleared space in the wardrobe, his nest-building urges back in full force. Ray had brought back the shirt and T-shirt that he’d taken home after the funeral, laundered and folded as carefully as the others. The remaining T-shirt was apparently spread out on his pillow back home.

“You don’t take it into work?”

“There would be complaints.”

They went downstairs together, but to Bodie’s surprise the prince didn’t follow him into the first bathroom, the blue one, but took the yellow one instead. Well, it made more sense, but it was still disappointing.

Ray used to sleep naked. They both did. Now Ray had discovered modesty. Bodie looked forward to the day when he could burn all of Ray’s Y-fronts and claim… oh, a herd of ravenous goats, a terrorist attack on the laundry.

* * * * *

Bodie didn’t set the alarm. He surfaced briefly at six, anyway, then went under again for another few hours. When he got up to take a leak, Ray didn’t even stir. Leave him to wake up on his own? Well, give him another half hour, and then remind him of local time. Bodie was wide awake now, not in the mood to doze, so he made himself a coffee then went back to bed to read for that half an hour.

~Uh. What time is it?~

“About half nine.”

“Uh. Right.” An enormous yawn, then he hauled himself to sitting and rubbed his fingers hard through his hair. “Smells like coffee.”

Bodie handed the mug over. “It’s not as hot as you like it. I’ll make some more.” When he came back, the prince was still yawning several times every minute. He drew the curtains, but it was a grey day, not the sort to make anyone eager to join it. “What d’you fancy doing?”

A grimace. “I’d thought as far as what I’ll cook tonight. But that’s it.”

“You’re going to cook!” He stretched in satisfaction. “Ray, you don’t know how much I’ve missed your cooking.”

“Well, I’m out of practice. Gimana affects the appetite. Never seemed worth making the effort.”

“We’ll need to go shopping for food, then. Maybe out to Tallin. I don’t think Ferros and Homa ever go there.”

“Or Esto.” Bodie had vaguely heard of the place: it was a small city with a violent past, surrounded by mountains and a good two hours’ drive away. “There’s a lot to do, even with the weather like this, and I can pick up some catra for dinner tomorrow.”

“OK.” A day out. Like their weekends away in their first few weeks on Pen Embrun. Driving home at dusk and looking for the first sight of the lights through the trees.

* * * * *

After a few weeks, they’d established that the prince could keep going for a full four days on the weekend and one health-hazard T-shirt. Then with a visit for At Pontal night, he was set up for the two days until the next weekend. Soon, he was talking about getting a car—he’d had to give up driving because of the damage that gimana did to his concentration—and about getting out of Records and back into his old team.

“Gonna be awkward, isn’t it, explaining how your husband’s come back from the dead?”

Bodie hadn’t been expecting simple amusement. Had his own tone really been that breezy? “Oh, I’ve already admitted that it was just a separation. All my fault. But I came to my senses.”

“And what did they say?”

“Not much. Wished us luck.” And from the start of the next month, he was back in his old job, and full of complaints about the very basic car he’d bought second-hand. He was back to normal, and thriving in a way that would have seemed impossible to anyone seeing him at the funeral only three months before.

Well. Not entirely normal. You might think that just being in bed with a warm, half-naked body would get some automatic, unconscious reaction, but no. Ray’s “hopeless slut” days were far, far behind. He must still have a sex drive, of course he must. Hell, Bodie had seen it in action, and that on only two or three days of diluted mana. But it no longer acted for Bodie. The shock, the murderous denial, must have scoured it away, leaving no trace. Even asleep, his body knew that it shared a bed with the glarus, Bodie, and it would not be betrayed a second time.

In some ways it made it easier for Bodie that the prince took this indifference so much for granted, as if there was nothing missing, as if this was everything a marriage could be. They were close, close friends, glad when they could be together, saving up stories and plans when they were apart. They were openly affectionate, more than Bodie had ever been with any other man, even those he’d risked his life or his career for. Ray would kiss him several times during each visit; in public, they could be found with their hands clasped; and in Bodie’s rooms or in hotel rooms, they would embrace, and they always fell asleep in one another’s arms.

Bodie got erections when they were together, of course, though fewer and fewer as depression sank ever deeper. After that first time, he wouldn’t let Ray touch them or even see them, but would take himself to the nearest private place, and deal with it there. Ray didn’t comment on this change, any more than Bodie asked Ray if he could pinpoint the moment when the desire had died. Dead and buried, and with only one mourner. On that first night, Ray had said, “For now,” but Bodie had soon recognised that statement for… well, something else. Maybe Ray had genuinely thought it might come back, having been so long in gimana that he’d forgotten the rules of lust. It never came back. It couldn’t, and no prayers or effort of will would even make you remember why it had been those eyes, those arms, those lips.

The closest they came to a discussion was during the summer, one day when Bodie had borrowed the flyer for the weekend. Ferros and Homa and the toddling girls were on the terraces when they flew over, and Ray watched until they were well out of sight. In all these months there had been no near-misses with the family, though Bodie still checked each point in the route when they were moving between his rooms and the car-park. He joined them for supper only once a week now, and hardly ever for breakfast at the weekend—once because Ray wanted news of Ferros’ pregnancy, and another time when Ray had had to work the An Embrun—but it seemed to be the rule in this household, that no one would comment openly on any change.

“What do they think you’re doing with yourself these days?” They were on one of the deserted islands, just getting started on lunch. “Not seeing you from one week to the next. Do they think you got fed up with them all at the funeral?”

Bodie shrugged. “Probably think I’m having an affair. Someone in Monor. Someone at work. Homa asked me once, who I was seeing. Before you came, this was.”

“Were you seeing anyone?”

“No.”

“And you’re not now?”

“No.”

“Why not? You must get offers. Unless Monor has changed beyond recognition.”

“I’m not interested. I gave up on all of that when I got married.” As mild as he could manage.

“I wouldn’t be upset, you know. You’ve got more than enough to go round. Just make sure he’s not qualified. To be safe.”

Bodie opened his sandwich to sprinkle some more aki on, and did not look at the prince. “I’m not interested.”

Should he be? Should he try? Would Ray actually be relieved if he took up with someone else? Had he been showing his depression more than he realised, making it a burden to Ray as well?

And did Ray have someone, then? Had he been going back to his bars? He could do that now, too, from what Bodie gathered. By now he was probably good at finding men who weren’t put off by the T-shirt on the pillow. Or would he hold off from that, would it seem wrong? What did it mean to him these days, when he called Bodie “husband”? Was it just the closest translation for some technical term in biochemistry?

So… Should he take Ray at his word? Try the bars in Monor? Yes, it would be good, to hold someone and feel the excitement in his heart and his lungs and his cock. To have his lips open to you. To know that by morning at least one of you would be tender in the arse.

God. It had been so long.

Then a month, two months longer wouldn’t make any difference, would it?

That was the response he always had ready for himself, day after day, month after month. It kept the other questions at bay, but it was rare now that he woke feeling completely rested.


	20. Chapter 19

## Chapter 19

The second pair of twins were born towards the end of the year. There was a girl and a boy, and they both had Homa’s brown eyes. Until midday on the first An Uraba, they had temporary, ceremonial names: the names of Udom Kol and Embrun’s third twins, who were the pair who had been welcomed most recently at the palace. And after that they became Sina and Till.

The prince wanted to see them, and he arrived for that first weekend talking about contacting Ferros and inviting himself for a proper visit. How had he known about the birth? Easy—he’d asked Ferros at the funeral when they were due. How would he explain the fact that he was no longer in gimana? Well… he could cut this visit short, not take the T-shirt, not visit during the week; and by An Embrun morning, when he arrived at the airport, he would be shaking hard enough to dislodge any awkward questions.

“But… you’re not going to look as if you’ve been hanging on, day by day, for two years. God, it’s taken you most of this time to get back from the way you looked then.”

“They won’t notice. C’mon, have they been noticing anything much recently?” This was true. If you wanted to find a time when Ferros might be fooled, then this was it. They argued all of this out over their An Oba Nyon-night meal, and after that the prince stayed only long enough for coffee and a small glass of kumusi. Their plans for the weekend had been vague, apart from a few games of gulshor and a meal out, but Bodie missed him piercingly, as if every moment of those days had been long discussed and anticipated.

The prince called Ferros during the evening of At Laura Var, when Bodie was at Malun’s, and Ferros immediately called Malun with the news.

“She said he seems… happier. As if he’s found more ways of… coming to terms.” He seemed part relieved, part perturbed. “I don’t know what that would mean for you, Bodie.” Bodie just shrugged. He and Malun had barely mentioned Ray that year. “He said he’d get a taxi from the airport this time, since they’re so busy, but I can easily collect him in Clara.”

No question of Bodie doing the airport run, it seemed. Had Ferros even suggested it, and if so, what had Ray done? Swallowed then looked horribly brave? Damn, they should have talked this over, how they were going to play this. They’d have to keep their distance, wouldn’t they? Couldn’t risk blowing Ray’s cover.

* * * * *

They picked up where they’d left off at the end of the funeral: very polite and wary. Ray introduced a thaw before the end of the first day—maybe preparing the family for the time when he would admit what had been happening?—and by breakfast of the second day he was speaking English more than Hass Embrun and both had raised smiles from one another. Still, there was nothing to make the family think that they might meet alone at any time over the weekend. Malun had arranged a catered meal for An Uraba evening in such a way that the flyer was the only way of getting Ray to the airport on time, so all Bodie could do was watch for his moment and slip the day’s shirt into Ray’s backpack.

* * * * *

Over the next couple of days, Bodie kept expecting a message for Ray saying that he couldn’t wait until At Pontal, that he’d be arriving that night, instead. He’d given Ray his address early on, with something like this in mind. Ray had never given his in return. And he must have a new address by now, mustn’t he? They’d insist on it for his work.

It occurred to him more than once that Ray might have fallen back into the rhythm of his year of endurance, and might have found some grim satisfaction there. This was Ray—it was hard to be sure. After all, he was staying in hiding, and that could only be for some strange promise he’d made himself, that no one else would understand. How could he not want Bodie at hand, there every night at no extra cost? Indeed, at no cost at all.

The prince was on the chaise longue drinking tea and reading **_The New Centurions_** when Bodie got back from work on At Pontal.

“Hey! When d’you get here?”

“Hours ago. I took the day off work. Most of last week, too.”

“Not up to it?”

“Not really. Not really up to driving.”

“You should’ve come days ago. You know you can come whenever you want.”

A shrug. “I got this idea of reminding myself. Seemed important at the time. And then I fancied another day off work.”

“You OK now?”

“Fine.”

* * * * *

“Was it worth it, the weekend?”

“Yeah. Nice kids, as far as you can tell. Homa’s besotted, even more than he was with the girls, Ferros says. Wonder if he’ll get worse with each pair.”

“Mmm. Was he saying he wished he could have some of the kids himself?”

“Once or twice. An hour. My sister just looked at him.” And he showed the cynical look and they both laughed.

“How are they all? How did they seem?” Bodie hadn’t really been part of the life of castle in many months.

“Good. They know what they want, and they can get it. They’re good for each other. They do think you’re having an affair.”

“They told you? Thought you’d be the last person they’d tell.”

“I asked what you’d been doing, they said they hadn’t seen much of you, and I asked if they thought you were seeing someone.”

“And they just said yes?”

“No, they got this please-don’t-ask-us-that look. So I said that the reason I’d noticed you in the first place wasn’t because you looked as if you had a _low_ sex drive. That maybe I’d got the easy part of being separated, since that wasn’t a problem I needed to deal with. And they said that, yes, you must be, but it didn’t affect your loyalty to me.”

Bodie raised his eyebrows and puffed out his cheeks, unable to guess why Ray was going in to all of this. Was he saying that he did understand how the sex side was affecting Bodie? Or suggesting that his own lack of response was actually a lingering effect of gimana? “Well, it wouldn’t, would it?” That earned him a smile, and a hand on his across the table.

“I said they should make it clear to you that you could bring him here. That it wouldn’t upset me at all.”

“What’d’you do that for, for Christ’s sake? Last thing I want is to have _that_ conversation with Homa again. Why, Ray? Why can’t we tell them that it’s _you_?”

A pause. “I’m not ready yet. I - I know it’s difficult. But I’m not ready yet to bring you back into my life.”

“Do you _want_ to?”

“Yes, I do. Come on. But - I don’t expect you to understand what a shock it was finding out.”

“I was there. You didn’t leave me guessing.”

“But -” A long sigh. “On some levels it’s still sinking in. It’s best if we stay like this until… I know I’m over every last reaction. It’s best for you too. Not having me waking you up in the middle of the night and telling you I’ve booked you a place on the next ship home and it leaves in an hour and here are your bags packed.”

Bodie swallowed. “You still feel like that?”

“Never when I’m with you. And less and less. It seems to fall on me from outside at strange times. Or seep out of my bones. I don’t know.”

“Is it going to stop?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

A shrug. “I don’t know. A year? Two years? Maybe two.”

Bodie rubbed his chin hard. “How long’s your money going to last? This is costing you a fucking fortune, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Just hoping it’s not more than two.”

“Well, we’ll put what I’ve got into it. What’s your account number? I’ll transfer it over tomorrow.” The prince had got a wary look. “Oh, come on, Ray. Your bank account. Not going to lead me to your doorstep, is it?”

“I know, I - I’d rather open a joint account.”

Now in any other situation, that would be a sign of trust. “OK. You set it up. You’re not going to tell me your address either, are you? In case I need to send you a message.”

“No.”

“Well… How about the coordinates of the nearest freight room? So I can send you shirts if there’s some reason you can’t make it. Or _I_ can’t. It would be cheaper, too, wouldn’t it?”

The prince had to think long and hard about that. “OK. I’ll sort something out with them.”

* * * * *

When the prince arrived for the weekend, he brought the details of the bank account, and four small transporter containers—not much more than envelopes, really—already tagged with the coordinates and with the code number that he had arranged with the freight department. When a package came in, they would send the prince a message and he would come and collect it. These four were prepaid and would return home when Bodie broke the seal of the tab and pressed the button. However, any transporter agent would sell Bodie further containers that would do the same job.

Now, what was to stop Bodie from parcelling himself up and arriving as freight? Nothing except the strong suspicion that it would add many months to his wait. A wait for what, though? To start learning to live with the lifetime version of this celibacy? And he could see that Ray was going to have someone lined up for him well before he was honoured with the secret of the address. Probably bring the man over one evening. Order the two of them into the bedroom while he got the supper ready. It made Bodie’s heart cringe.

“Oh, has Homa talked to you yet? About bringing -”

“He tried to. I just looked at him.” The prince tensed as the look fell on him. Bodie relented, and gave Ray time to relax before he spoke again. “So what about you, Ray? Who is he?”

A shrug and a slight smile. “There’s no one in particular. Whoever catches my eye that night.”

“I see. Would you like it to be someone in particular? Are you looking?”

“No! For that, I get everything I need from you.”

Utterly without warning, Bodie found himself on the verge of tears. He must have got himself more keyed-up than he realised. Somehow he managed to fight them back, but only barely, judging from Ray’s reaction: out of his chair in a second, and around the table to put his arms around Bodie.

“Oh, Bodie. Don’t. You can’t think that I regret this. Any of this. Except the ways I’ve hurt you.” He drew back, his expression a question. Bodie shrugged slightly, then shook his head, again slightly. Ray bent close, and the kiss was firmer than usual, and several seconds longer. “Maybe I never have said. There’s no one, no one else I could want as my husband. I love you. That’s how you say it, isn’t it?”

The scene played itself in Bodie’s mind in a fraction of a second: his weight taking them both to the floor, one hand gripping Ray’s hair, the other forcing his mouth open. And Ray wouldn’t even be angry. _“Bodie, I can’t. You know I can’t. I’m sorry. That’s why it’s best if you…”_

“Yes. That’s how we say it.” And that was when he started to think about leaving.


	21. Chapter 20

## Chapter 20

How could Ray bear the idea, how could he bear it at all? The two of them married, swearing eternal devotion, and heading out every evening, bringing their finds home. Easier maybe for Ray than the idea that they’d need a loan from the family to get a flat with two bedrooms.

Ah, but Ray could bear it because he had already forgotten what it was like to feel the way that Bodie felt. What were his memories, then, of their sex? Was it as if it had all happened to someone else, with someone else? Two strangers acting the parts of Udom Kol and Embrun out of duty, maybe never knowing the other’s face.

If he did find a way to leave, he would miss Ray all his life. No question there. Ray’s voice in his head, the smell of him, the feel of his skin. Maybe he never would manage to build much of a life for himself after he’d left Ray, but he knew he had to try. He knew he needed to be able to set himself in a single direction, to be in a place where he could take someone to his bed—for a night, a month, or a year—and know that he wanted this wholeheartedly, that it wasn’t a betrayal of the other person, of Ray, of the gods, of himself. And this wasn’t the place. With Ray still loving him, still needing him for the mana, it never would be.

* * * * *

After two weeks of thinking it over, he knew he had to talk to someone else. Malun. Who could make almost anything happen. For their first dinner of the new year, Malun suggested Bodie’s favourite restaurant in the city, but Bodie said there was something he needed to talk about and a restaurant wouldn’t be a good place. Malun raised his eyebrows but contained his curiosity even after they were home and the ready-made usak was heating in the oven.

“Maybe you’d guessed, but… Ray and I have been meeting.”

Malun obviously hadn’t. “Since the other weekend? We all thought things were better, but we didn’t dare hope…”

“No. Since the funeral. Since the last few days of Raina’s funeral.” Which was true as far as Malun’s priorities went.

“Canta! Nearly a year?”

“Yes, but…” Bodie swallowed, and was taking a breath to continue when Malun interrupted.

“How often? He was in gimana that weekend. It can’t have been very often.”

“Often enough. He’s gone back to his old work. He’s able to drive again. He deliberately went back into gimana so that you wouldn’t guess.”

Malun looked carefully at him, then said slowly, “Why didn’t he want us to guess?”

Bodie shrugged, his face twisting. “I don’t know. But it’s…” He sighed. “… it’s never gone well. We’ve both tried. God, we’ve tried. But it’s hopeless. Something’s gone. Everything’s gone. We’ve decided…” Another sigh. “… that if there’s _anything_ , anything at all, that can be done to get us free of each other, then… we want to try it. And I want to go home. I like you all, you’ve all treated me better than… But it’s better if… there’s seven hundred lightyears between us.” He and Malun looked at each other, then looked away. The silence lasted through the process of dishing up and eating the usak and salad, and then as Malun made a large pot of coffee and directed Bodie to the glasses and the hard liquor. They moved to the sitting room, and Malun got the fire going before he sat down.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know how long you’d waited. The problem can’t be on your side?”

“It’s on both. It doesn’t matter. Look, if you’re going to start suggesting how we can make it work, forget it. We’ve been through that. Now. What can we do?”

Malun was shaking his head. “You know how we feel about what you’re asking. It would need… taking your soul apart. Putting it in a bottle. None of us would do it. I’m… I’m surprised Ray would consider it. You don’t have to meet, you know.”

“I want to go home. I’m not one of you. I don’t have that kind of soul. That’s the way Ray looks at it. You can blend up as much of… me as you like, and your gods won’t even notice.”

“I can see that’s a way of arguing it, but again, there’s no biochemist on the planet who would be willing to work on it. Even if we could. It’s our weakest area.”

“What about the drugs, then? You had a lab full of atheists?”

“The drugs have the same formula for everyone. They don’t come close to what you’re talking about. We don’t manufacture souls.”

They drank steadily, and Malun offered Bodie a bed for the night just before he was about to suggest it himself.

“What about another planet, then? One that isn’t weak in biochemistry. What if you hired _them_ to do it? Don’t tell me they’d all refuse.”

Malun blinked, as if his brain was turning around in his skull. He pulled this face, and that face, and finally said, “I think… that might be acceptable. Though… we’ll need to be very careful. The fewer people who know about this, the better.”

“They’d storm into your office and stone you.”

“I don’t know. And I don’t want to find out. OK. The next time you see Ray, tell him… about this. See… if he’s still willing to go ahead when it’s not just… a theory. Then… I’ll get to work. It may be another year. You realise.”

“Yes. But it’ll be easier. Maybe we won’t meet. Thank you.”

“See what he says.”

* * * * *

Two days later, Bodie sent a message to Malun saying that Ray was more than willing—not that he’d said anything to Ray, of course. Over their next meal, Malun announced that he’d sent messages to five renowned laboratories inviting them to bid for this project: setting up a team on one of the orbiting research stations, and there devising a process that would synthesise Bodie’s sweat and would function for a minimum of fifty years after the team had left. All of the laboratories were in systems at least a month distant, and Malun had given them a month to submit their bids.

“How much is this going to cost?”

“For the business, it’s a minor project. I can authorise it on my own.”

“You’re charging it to the business?”

“Ray wouldn’t have met you if he hadn’t come on one of our contact missions. It wouldn’t have happened if we’d done our research properly. I’d do the same for anyone. And I will, if it happens again.”

There you are, Bodie—officially an industrial accident. He was in the mood where the idea made him smirk, and wish he could share the joke with Ray.

* * * * *

All five turned in a bid. Malun made his decision within a day, sent his replies, and appointed an administrator to liaise with the team and set things up on the station. The administrator was given few details of the project: it was confidential, it involved chemical synthesis, it was important to the business. Maybe he thought the business was trying its hand at forging perfumes.

Once Bodie heard that the team was on its way, he polished up the next stage of his plan, and brought it into action late one An Udom Kol evening as he and Ray were finishing their wine and listening to music.

“Ray…” The prince looked up. “I _am_ seeing someone else now. I thought you’d want to know.”

The prince looked astonished, then blinked rapidly several times, and then smiled broadly at Bodie, seemingly pleased and relieved. “Who? Since when? Where did you meet him?”

“At a gulshor tournament against Lin Alam.” Lin Alam was the civil service, the second-largest employer in the area. “He’s quite young. Just joined the Department of Health. We’ve been seeing each other once or twice a week.”

“Since when?”

“A month ago. I thought it would be just a one-night stand, but…”

“Well. That’s good. What’s his name?”

“Bret.” The name of the youngest man in Cargo. “I’m not going to tell you any more about him. He doesn’t want to hear about you. Only seems fair.”

“OK. Have you brought him here?”

“No. Don’t think I will. He lives in town. Easier for us to use his place. The thing is… At Laura Var and At Pontal are the best nights for us, and -”

“You have dinner with Malun on At Laura Var.”

“Yes. But we eat early, sometimes in town. So, I was thinking… What if you don’t visit during the week any more? I’ll send you my shirt on At Pontal night. That should be enough, shouldn’t it? If you find it isn’t, send me a message, and I’ll send you another straight away.”

The prince obviously had no idea how to react to this. He knew he was supposed to be pleased, that he’d just won a long campaign, but he probably hadn’t expected this to be his reward. “Oh. Isn’t there - It’s going to be a long week.”

“We’ll make up for it at the weekend. And this way the money’ll last for three years. Maybe four.”

“Well…” Abruptly, he shook himself. “Yes. It’s a good idea. Whatever’s easiest for you. Just - Couldn’t think of anything back then except how much I’ll miss you.”

“We’ll get used to it.”

* * * * *

Bodie had used two of the transporter containers by the time the team arrived, and then another while they settled in. One shirt, fresh from a game of gulshor, seemed to be enough to get the prince through the last two days of the week. In preparation for the start of the experiments, Bodie bought a stack of identical white T-shirts, a selection of shirts chosen for their lack of distinguishing features, and a small fortune in transporter containers. These all got stowed under the stairs, hidden under a layer of LPs.

Malun wouldn’t let him visit the station—because of the danger?—and wouldn’t let him meet the team down on the planet—convinced an angry mob would hear about it?—so that side of things was all being done by transporter too. Bodie hid his second set of pre-paid containers in the wardrobe of one of the downstairs bedrooms.

He got his orders from the team through Malun, and the first one was to work up a sweat and then shave his armpits and send them the hair and the razor. After that they sent him strips of absorbent fabric, with instructions as to how long he was to wear the day’s strip and at what stage in his routine. He prepared a story about a lost bet with Anis in case Ray asked about the shaved armpits, but it wasn’t needed.

It took them over two months to produce their first effort, which arrived in a downstairs bedroom in an insulated flask just before midnight on an At Pontal. Bodie was waiting, dressed in sterile overalls and gloves to make sure that none of his real mana got onto the shirt by accident. The overalls had been his own idea, but he was glad that the only mirror in the room was safely shut away inside the wardrobe. He took the shirt out of its packaging, rumpled it, turned it inside out and back again, rumpled it some more. Once he’d got it looking right, he opened the flask and took great care in pouring the liquid onto the armpits of the shirt. Drop by drop, and trying for a natural distribution. The liquid was warm enough to breathe steam into the unheated room. Blood heat. Now, maybe a line along the spine, too. It certainly smelled like sweat.

What would Ray think? What _had_ he been thinking with all of these At Pontal shirts? That it was Bret who had raised this sweat? Even that it was sweat from their sex? Ray hadn’t asked about Bret since that first time.

The shirt was still damp when he sealed it into the container and sent it off. Yes, he felt guilty, sending Ray something that might be no more use to him than water. God, don’t let Ray try to tough it out. Or convince himself that this was it, Bodie’s mana starting to desert him, so he’d go all the way back into hiding again. Bodie had spent a long, long time trying to guess how Ray might react, and had decided that all he could really do in anticipation was put a hair-seal on the wardrobe—in case Ray came during the day to raid his laundry drawer—and always keep a spare shirt and a container with him—in case Ray sent an urgent message.

The message was waiting when Bodie checked at the beginning of lunch on At Kamaran, and Ray must have sent it first thing in the morning, before he even left for work. Had he been awake, shivering, all night? Bodie skipped lunch, went for a sprint around the park, and dealt with the shirts in a changing-room at the gym. There. Now if Ray’s transporter people were up to scratch, he should be able to pick it up in less than an hour.

There were no further messages that week, and the prince arrived as normal on the At Oba Nyon evening. However, he did have a comment as he handed over the week’s laundered shirts. “What do you think could have been wrong with this one? Something you ate? Or did? You’ve not been feeling ill, or anything?”

“Fit as I’ve ever been. Maybe it was you. Something stopping you taking it in properly? I could ask what _you_ were doing.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and the prince did smile, but weakly.

What would Ray do if he thought Bodie had stopped producing the mana? In the long-term, that is. As a hypothetical question. Would he find any comfort in Bodie’s company? Would he want him near? Bodie’s guesses on this would flip around in the space of an hour.

The experiment continued, with erratic results at first, and then a steady improvement as the team became more and more certain of which components were the active ones. Unfortunately, some of the most important components reacted with one another within hours, and others over the space of two or three days. This would explain why Ray needed it relatively fresh, and meant that he always would.

Ray had decided he must have been carrying some lingering virus. He hated being ill, regarding it as gross impertinence on the part of his body, and he took Bodie out for a celebratory meal on the first An Embrun after he’d got through the week on just one delivery. Bodie was amused and gratified and guilty, all at once.

It was time for the next stage of the plan, where Bodie sent Ray off on At Mordez morning with a “fake” T-shirt, instead of the one that he’d worn during the night. This involved the delivery of a fresh flask to Bodie’s bathroom while they were asleep, and some dazzling quick-change routines from Bodie first thing in the morning. He locked the bathroom door, though it probably wasn’t necessary since Ray always kept strictly to his own bathroom.

Ray’s virus came back, and Bodie arranged meals in commiseration, but it was only for two weeks. Bodie waited for another two weeks to be sure, and then moved to the next stage: a message with the At Pontal delivery to say that he’d come down with something himself and it would be better if Ray stayed away for the weekend. He’d send a shirt every night, and if Ray needed more, he had only to write and ask. The prince did write, several time, but only to urge Bodie to get better and to take care, and to say how he was missing him, and to suggest remedies from childhood. Guilt. Guilt.

He decided to recover for the next weekend so he could inspect Ray’s state in person. Perfect. They had it. Surely they had it. Now for the month’s trial that he and Malun and the team had all agreed on.

“I was going to tell you last weekend, but… Bret and I are going off on a holiday. Two weeks, might end up being more, starting next weekend.”

Again, the prince had difficulties finding a reaction. “So… I won’t see you for two weeks?”

“May be more like three. Or four. If we make the most of the weekends. And we’re going around the Ortuga -” A maze of islands some distance to the south. “- in his sister’s boat, and he says no one ever gets back from there on time whatever they do, so we’ve booked the week after just in case. Don’t worry. I’ll take all the containers and shirts you could ever need. Send them same as usual. And we’ll put into port at least once a day, so you know I’ll get any messages.”

Speechless.

Bodie grinned, as if this was a joke they were both playing out. “Hey, if you gave me your street address, I could send you postcards. Can’t put them in the containers, can I? Spoils the point.”

“Three weeks? But that’s all the holiday you get. I - I thought we might…”

Now more serious: “Oh. Damn. You should have said. Still, there’s next year, eh? Whatever you had in mind will still be there.”

“Three weeks.”

“Yeah, or four. I’ll let you know as soon as I get back. You can come over even if it’s midweek. No point you bothering while I’m away, though. Even if I don’t get around to doing the laundry before we go, it’ll all be too old to do you any good.”

The prince was very quiet for the rest of the weekend, watchful, and wary. It wasn’t the memory that Bodie wanted of their last days together, but maybe this was exactly the parting that would make it easier on both of them. On the At Mordez morning, he waited until the last moment to hand over the fake T-shirt. Ray took it without even a nod, and bundled it into his backpack. Bodie stepped forward and kissed his cheek. “You won’t even notice I’m gone.” Ray’s unsmiling expression reserved judgement on that, right to the end.

* * * * *

With no messages by midday on the next An Uraba, Malun and Bodie went ahead with telling Ferros and Homa what had been happening, and that Bodie was provisionally booked on a jump-ship that was leaving in less than three weeks time. They were horrified. Not so much at the sacrilegious aspect—although their reaction to that was not pleasant to watch—but that all the hope and patience and effort should be ending like this.

“What will you do, when you get home?”

“I don’t know. See if I can get my old job back.” He had given no thought to that whatsoever, and could not imagine himself back on Earth.

“The offer’s always open, you know, of work with the base.” Malun had been mentioning this more and more as the time approached.

“I know. Thanks. I’ll see what happens.” It was a thought. He didn’t rule it out.

“So how can we keep in touch with you?” Ferros, now perplexed and insistent. “Not another member of the family disappeared. I couldn’t bear it.”

“I’ll let the base know where I am. And I’ll drop in every week or so if I don’t get settled right away. I wouldn’t do that, Ferros. Not to my family.” Or not twice, anyway. He meant what he said. He did want to keep in touch with them, or at least try.

The next day, at work, he told Anis, who was more exasperated than anything, with no thoughts beyond the unfinished book. It was exactly as Bodie had expected.

“I don’t see why we can’t still work on it. Communication time’s only a week. And I’ll finally have people to test it out on.”

“You won’t do it. Not without me to keep you in line. Not worth the effort of working out a new strategy.” Was he serious? Bodie couldn’t tell. Bodie had been—he did want to see the book finished, for various reasons. Well, he had another two weeks to work on Anis.

There was no message by the end of the next weekend, either. This had to mean Ray was well, didn’t it? He wouldn’t be gritting his teeth and hanging on to whatever odd mood he’d been in when they parted, would he? No. No. They knew the team had got it right. Ray was fine, and Bodie told Malun that he heard from Ray nearly every day—Ray didn’t think they even needed to take the trial to the third week, but he, Bodie, had insisted. Shit. It was all very well talking about keeping in touch and thinking about work with the base, as if they’d still claim him as family when they finally wised up. Would they understand? He did want to explain, but he’d leave it until he was safely home.

The next week he handed in his notice with Cargo, saying that he was moving back home. They all took this to mean a reconciliation with his husband, and seemed to find confirmation in his extreme reticence. The entire team went out drinking on the At Oban Nyon night, along with some of Bodie’s regular partners for gulshor. It was a good night, so good that Bodie called Ferros to tell her that he would be checking into a hotel rather than drive home. He didn’t want to leave Pen Embrun. Why was he doing this? And then he remembered the first time he’d kissed Ray, and the last time that Ray had kissed him, and wondered how he’d borne it so long.

On the An Embrun morning, while he was still in town, he bought another stack of T-shirts and a kitbag for the voyage. He started his packing by sorting out the clothes he would take and his first choices in books: half junk, half History. Once he’d found the limit of the kitbag, it was a matter of disposing of everything that was left. Malun had offered to ship it all back for him, but what was the point? He found space in the library for the other books, added the bedding—unused in nearly three years—to the Special Guests section of the linen store, gave the remaining clothes to Homa to pass on to the heftier members of his family. Then all that was left was a couple of boxes under the stairs that no one here would find any use for: his leathers, and his human music. It was wrenching, throwing the leathers away, but they were soaked deep with fluids so personal that they had no place with anyone other than Ray and himself. As for the records and tapes, he’d take them in to work on At Mordez, donate them to Anthropology, wanted or not.

The other members of the family didn’t know yet. No one was in the mood to break the news, and Bodie had made it clear that he did not want a big send-off. Ferros suggested having supper in the family dining room on his last night. Bodie was willing enough to please her, but mentioned that he thought that the kitchen would be where he’d picture them, and she changed her mind.

He was boarding by shuttlecraft early on the At Laura Var morning. Ferros and Homa wanted to drive him there, but with the four children, it just couldn’t be made practical. He took his farewells of the girls after supper, and Afmad, who still had Ray’s eyes, at least gave him a perfunctory wave before tearing off after her sister.

Malun left around ten, with twenty-four T-shirts and twelve transporter-containers safely stowed in the flyer’s small luggage-compartment. Bodie said that Ray preferred it like this: the T-shirt as the carrier, and the delivery each morning. For the moment, Ray wanted the illusion that he had a proper husband out there somewhere, but give him time and he’d take direct delivery of the flask. Just wait until he asks.

A last glass of wine together in the living room, which might, after all, be the place that Bodie would picture. Or the terraces. It would depend on his frame of mind, which he forecast to be various grades of “poor” for the foreseeable future.

They were at the door at five, in their dressing gowns, to see him off. He hugged them as a pair, kissed them as he’d last kissed Ray, thanked them and wished them well, then drove off without looking back.

He was a passenger today, so entitled to use the spaceport’s own entrance instead of the main entrance to the site. He parked the car in the location he’d arranged with Malun, then sat a few seconds with the key-card in one hand, and his last three music cards in the other. Then he shrugged, and slipped the music cards in his pocket. A souvenir. Why not? He might even get some use out of them on the voyage.

Before he checked in for the shuttlecraft, he had a few final errands. The spaceport had an automatic bank outlet, as he knew from all those lunch-breaks, and he used it to transfer the balance of his account to the joint account. Then he put his bank card in with the key-card, his main ID, and his employee ID in the internal mail pack that he’d brought with him. It was already made out to Malun, so he simply had to push it through the appropriate slot. And that was it. Finished with Pen Embrun.

His travel papers were accepted without question or comment and he was assigned to the next shuttle, with only half an hour to wait. Ray would be fast asleep now, thoroughly settled in Dishna’s time-zone. The day’s flask had probably arrived in Malun’s house, and in about an hour, Malun would be dealing with his first T-shirt, getting a feel for how much time it would take from his early-morning routine. Everything would carry on quite well without William Bodie.


	22. Chapter 21

## Chapter 21

The Sabel was tiny, with a crew of twenty and with two small holds, both of the short-term design. It was a messenger ship, really—“delivery van” was the term that kept coming into Bodie’s head—and it spent 95% of its time well out of system, not knowing what it would be doing from one week to the next. These past two months had been the first time in years when it had really been on a “schedule”—with time booked in the shipyards for some work on the engine. It was now heading back to work, first stop Lunda Sul Station, just beyond the first jump-point, where it would drop Bodie off. Bodie would have to change ships five times in all, though the longest he’d have to wait at a station was six days. Just one look at his travel-papers made it clear how low Earth came in their priorities. How many centuries had they allowed to make back the cost of the contact mission?

Bodie had been expecting to share a cabin, but they all had their own. Bodie’s would have fitted easily inside the wardrobe from those first quarters they’d given him. Maybe at one time it had even held a second bunk, and he had the unions to thank for the shower—even if there wasn’t room to stand up in it—and the storage space and the link to the ship’s library. This was standard issue, apparently, for a single person on a short tour, and with no registered study program. Bodie had no complaints.

There were three other passengers, also bound for Lunda Sul Station, but they were medium-ranking employees, in daily contact with their colleagues, and all with something to be getting on with during the voyage. Bodie was the only person on board with nothing to do. He spent a lot of time in the gym—a converted cabin on the unoccupied “couples” corridor—though the air-conditioning hadn’t really been designed for his level of exertion. Maybe by the next ship he’d feel up to doing some work on the book: a few hours’ reading in the library each morning and afternoon, making some notes. And he knew full well that he was hanging back waiting for something that wasn’t going to happen, some impossible morning when he’d leap off his bunk full of energy and ideas. So since it wasn’t going to happen, he should make himself go to the library now, today. Several times, each after a hard session in the gym, he did get as far as logging on, but the sight of the startup screen seemed to act on him like a lobotomy, and he would still be there staring at it half an hour later.

Loss. He was lost. He had lost. Living with this defeat, he saw so clearly that the very idea of victory was an illusion, that nothing he’d done in his life had ever really been important, not to anyone. Every night, he expected to dream that his bunk was a coffin.

* * * * *

~Hey! What are you doing? Those are all of my travel papers!~ Or they had been, until the woman on reception duty at Lunda Sul Station had dropped them straight into Disposal.

~Hasn’t anyone told you?~

~Told me what?~ He hadn’t used that tone since the last interrogation he’d conducted as 3.7. The woman narrowed her eyes, then turned to her keyboard, stabbed some keys, and looked back at Bodie with a small, unpleasant smile. It was a fair guess that he’d just got a new cabin assignment.

~The Madiso has been diverted. You’re on the Agu Set instead.~ She brought out another set of travel papers and dropped them on the counter in front of Bodie. ~So we’ll have the /?/ of looking after you just that bit longer.~ Then a brief, hostile silence while she made up his information pack for his stay on the station. ~Do enjoy your stay.~

The cabin was the opposite way round to the one on the Sabel, but otherwise identical. He set the lock, kicked his kitbag into a corner, then hauled himself up on the bunk to study his new travel papers. Oh, fuck! More than a fucking week here, and they were probably all worse than that bitch at the desk. And the new route would take two weeks longer. Why hadn’t he brought more books? He could easily have managed another bag.

Well, at least it was a large station, one of the largest. Might even have a gulshor court. And someone to lend him the equipment. Some decent food, too? The pack of information included a map—or, rather, a small book of maps—so he freshened up and then set out on a systematic exploration.

* * * * *

The station did have gulshor courts, and a good gym, and observation lounges with amazing views of the ships coming in to dock, so the time passed more quickly than it had on the ship. Most of the people on board seemed to be in transit, like himself, and it was rare to see any crew other than the galley-staff and the librarian. He still couldn’t work on the book. In the evenings, after he’d eaten, he always seemed to find himself heading for the cinema, and when he woke, he was never sure if this was the same film, or the next one.

He was thinking of nothing except the days until he could board the Agu Set. There was no past, no future. He couldn’t remember if the books had had it right about Limbo: the staleness that coated every breath, the trapped smell of bored people, tired machines.

* * * * *

Three days to go. He was forcing himself to get up at the start of the first shift. Not before, or he’d be surrounded by crew at breakfast, and he preferred the galley when he wasn’t the only one there marking time. A light breakfast, then a tour of inspection—a daily challenge to his powers of observation. The big freighter was gone, and two smaller ones, little larger than the Sabel, had come in during the night. Back to the cabin for his exercise kit, then off to the gym, which was quieter than usual for this time. Must be because of the freighter.

He was about half an hour in with his weight-training circuit, eyes closed to concentrate. Down, then make the muscles relax, then - “Uh?” The bar might as well be welded in place. He opened his eyes and tilted his head back to look, and registered out of the corner of his eye that there was someone standing close. ~Eh, mate. Do you -~ It was Ray. Ray unshaven and looking as if he’d not changed those clothes in two weeks, all of his energy and control saved for this towering fury. He took a step away and pointed towards the door in violent command, and Bodie sat up and started to get off the bench. Once on his feet, he gestured vaguely towards the changing-rooms. “I left my -”

A hiss. Bodie nodded and obeyed. Once they were out in the corridor, the prince led the way, looking back only after each turn in the route, and snarling at each sight of Bodie, no matter what new extreme of meekness and contrition Bodie had discovered. Finally he stopped in front of a door deep in the accommodation corridors, and put his visitor ID in the lock. The door hissed open, and the prince stood back to command Bodie inside. It was a cabin for a couple, with a wider bunk, and more storage space.

“Up.”

Bodie clambered up the ladder, heart now pounding and cock on the rise. He crawled over to the far side of the bunk, leaving the area nearest the ladder free for the prince. The ceiling was low, and Bodie could only just sit upright against the wall.

The prince glared across at Bodie. Bodie immediately dropped his gaze to the mattress between them, and then found it drawn to the prince’s clenched fists that were sometimes rubbing, sometimes thudding against knee or thigh. The two men stayed like that for many minutes, their loud breathing shifting, but never easing.

Finally, Bodie took a deep breath and looked up. “You’re in gimana, too, aren’t you?” He was already stripping off his top.

“What did you expect?” The prince refused to take the top, so Bodie laid it carefully on the bed by the prince’s right knee.

There was another long, long silence. Bodie closed his eyes. He opened them briefly when the prince pushed himself back to lean against the far wall, but kept them closed at the next sound of movement—advance, then retreat—and at the deep inhalations and whisperings of fabric.

When the prince next spoke, his control was such that there was little in his voice apart from tension. “My uncle, whose gentleness we all know, wants to watch you being fed into a mincing machine.”

Bodie bit his lips, screwed his eyes tight shut, banged his head against the wall, but nevertheless, in the end, couldn’t keep the laughter in. Yes, mostly hysteria, but still… He just had to assume that Malun had been suitably grim and terrible in the original Hass Embrun.

“It’s all been a big joke to you, has it?”

Sobering rapidly, Bodie shook his head.

“Then what? How could you do this? Is Bret coming with you? Is that it?”

“There is no Bret. He was an excuse to keep you away so I could send you your mana by the transporter.”

The prince shut his eyes, then dropped his head into his hands. His breathing had turned uneven again. When he raised his head, his expression was a strange mixture of relief and despair. “I thought - You seemed so happy with him. I thought -” He swallowed, and then his voice strengthened. “Then why? Even _more_ : why? Have you been… hating me all this time? Because of the way it started? Because of…”

Were there any words more humiliating than the ones the prince was demanding of Bodie? “You don’t believe that. Do you? You know perfectly well I never stopped loving you.”

A small nod, and then eyes averted.

“But you can’t say the same, can you, Ray?”

Distraught: “I was - I wasn’t in my right mind, any of that year. I - I couldn’t tell what had been you and what had been Gagras. I couldn’t trust anything. Every day I’d remember… something between us and… And I knew I’d never see you again.”

“No, not that year. Since. Now, even.” Still unable to form the words, he resorted to action, untying his shoes and dropping them off the side of the bunk, then socks, and then shorts and Y-fronts. Naked, he leaned back against the wall, his arms at his sides. “OK, Ray. Could anything interest you less?”

The prince was shaking his head vehemently. Bodie had to look away. Ray _could_ be tactful when he chose, but today that was obviously not his choice. He studied his right hand as it picked at the covering on the mattress, wishing vaguely that he’d not made the grand gesture of throwing his clothes down onto the floor.

“That can’t be the reason you did this.” The prince’s voice was gentle, and he come forward onto his knees. A warm hand reached out to cup Bodie’s ankle, but Bodie drew his foot back. “You _must_ know… what you are to me. That we just have to be patient a little longer. I _will_ adjust. I always _told_ you I will adjust.”

Bodie stared at him for some time. “God. You really believe that. You really do. It’s never happened, Ray. In the history of your world or mine. Once… what someone’s got has stopped working for you, then that’s it. It never comes back. And with us… I turn you off so badly that we can sleep together for nights on end, and you don’t even twitch, not in your sleep. And _you_ think that one morning you’re going to wake up and think, ‘Hey! He’s not that bad if you sit him away from the lights. I bet I could get it up with him if I half-close my eyes and think about that last fuck I had with what’s-his-name from the bar.’ ‘cos don’t tell me you were hoping for anything better than that.”

“No. No.” An anguished plea. “It’s not like that. It won’t _be_ like that. It’ll be… _exactly_ the way it was before.”

“Oh, Ray, how can you believe that?” Bodie sighed, and then suddenly had had enough of being the one doing the work. He got up onto his knees, eyes hardening. “And what do I have to do to show you that you’re talking shit?”

The prince was off-balance to start with, and seemed unaware of the danger until it was upon him. Bodie dragged him forward by the legs and knelt hard on those legs. As for the prince’s arms, he pushed them up above the head, then slammed down hard on the upper arms with his right forearm and much of his weight, needing to shock them quickly into submission so that he could keep his left hand free. The left hand was for the prince’s flies, for forcing the prince to acknowledge the failure that Bodie had been living with for so long. The prince was struggling and crying out, probably in his own language.

Bodie got the trousers open then started on the effort of dragging them down. The prince’s struggles actually helped him, giving the occasional lift to the hips that granted him half an inch here, and then there. Finally the trousers were down to the thighs. Now for the Y-fronts. The prince was desperate, pleading—but not angry, as if he did understand, after all, what was driving Bodie to this. Bodie did not relent.

He got a grip on the waistband, felt the brush of Ray’s pubic hair against his knuckles, and his erection throbbed still harder as he tugged downwards and the sensations increased.

“Uh?” He’d grunted aloud. Not soft, smooth, moist cock after the pubic hair, but something slippery and much less yielding. He tugged further and found the edge of this something as a straight, slightly-raised line, and below that, normal, lovely cock. He arched up, twisted to the side as much as he dared with Ray in this state, then looked down at what he’d found.

Weird. A band of shiny, light-grey material, about an inch wide, wrapped around the cock right near the base. Almost like… a bandage? He felt the material between his fingertips, and it was oily and springy, like the material of his exercise clothes. Now he wrapped his hand around it, all the way around the cock, and ­-

Really weird. Something hard under the material at the side, like a button, and similar on the other side, but even larger. The prince had gone suddenly quiet, apart from gasps and pleas to Bodie to stop, stop. Bodie centred his grip on the buttons, and pushed at one in exploration.

The prince shrieked. Bodie sprang back, releasing his claim on the prince’s arms as well as on the cock. A wait of several seconds in which nothing else happened, and then he reached out very cautiously with both hands, keeping alert to anticipate and subdue any further struggles. He found the top edge of the material, hidden in the thatch of coarse hair, and started to ease it down. Immediately, the prince gave a shudder, then went very still.

“No. No, Bodie. Please. You’re hurting me.”

“OK, I’ll leave it alone. If you take it off yourself.”

The prince opened his mouth to plead again, but Bodie’s expression could not have been encouraging. Without looking, he put his hand down between his legs, and reached behind his cock to cup his balls. His fingers found what they were searching for, there was a small click, and then he was unwinding the strip with its various ties and fastenings, and lifting it away to let it fall to the bed beside his head. He turned his head to the other side, and Bodie was held for many seconds, seeing a depth of defeat in that face that might even match the feeling that he himself knew.

The buttons were still there. What? Surely they’d been sewn into -

“Oh, Christ. Oh, Jesus. Ray! Jesus.”

There was a small hole drilled right the way through the prince’s cock, from side to side, very near the base. Something was pushed through this hole, a thin rod of some dark material—a plastic?—and the buttons capped the ends of the rod. The button on the left—the prince’s right—was small and nearly flush to the skin, but the other was larger, and looked like nothing so much as the winder on the top of a pocket watch.

“Ray.” Bodie was stricken. “Who did this to you?”

“A doctor.”

“Because of me?”

The prince swallowed painfully, and looked away again. “Yes.”

“Oh, God. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Bodie bent, throat aching, his own cock now deflated, and pressed his lips to the soft skin just above the terrible mutilation. “I’m so sorry. How can you say you don’t regret, when…? Oh, God.” He bent again.

A gentle hand on his hair made him raise his head. “Don’t. There’s no need. I’ve got used to it. And it’s quite a common fitting.”

Bodie stared at the thing again, horrified, knowing he was going to have nightmares about it. But… if this button _was_ a winder, then that implied some kind of screw, and maybe if you turned it far enough it would all… He gripped the far ends of the buttons between his left thumb and forefinger in order to brace it so it didn’t twist and hurt Ray. The prince started to squirm. “Hush, Ray. I promise I won’t hurt you.” He tried to turn the winder towards himself, but it wouldn’t budge. The other direction, and it moved silkily through about ninety degrees, stopped with a quiet click that he felt rather than heard, and there stayed stopped. He released his grip and cupped the soft cock in his left hand. “Will it - Does it come off?”

“Yes, but… it’s a doctor’s job.”

“Can you - Can you have sex with it in? Or do you have to see the doctor each time you want to go to the bars?”

“No, I can. Have to be careful, though. And you’d be surprised how many men like it.” Despite the smile, the prince seemed nervous, restless. No, he couldn’t possibly be as used to this as he’d made out.

“I’d be fucking astonished. Who you hanging out with, Ray? How can they -” His throat closed, and he bent again in worship and apology, this time needing the whole length to know his anguish and his love. The prince was twisting from side to side, as far as he was able with Bodie still kneeling on his legs, and he was making small grunts of protest. About the doctor, the men in the bars, and about all that he had lost from the moment he laid eyes on William Bodie—Bodie had no doubt on that.

The prince’s cock started pulsing and filling in Bodie’s hand, now returning the pressure of his lips. Bodie stayed kneeling, feeling each throb as if it was powered by his own heart. Though that heart felt as if it was shrivelling, frozen. Which of those brutal men was Ray thinking about? Were there bars in Dishna for this? Half the men marked for life by gimana, and the other half thinking it was sexy?

Finally he lifted his head, expression bleak. The prince seemed to be almost in pain. “What’s his name, then, Ray? C’mon. What is it that he’s got? What d’you look for these days?”

A surge of blood, and the prince groaned. “Don’t, Bodie. Can’t you believe me? You don’t have to do this. They’re nothing to you. Nothing. Please let me go.”

Letting him go. Wasn’t that what Bodie had been working on for most of the year? Why was Ray here? Why wasn’t he spraying the whole flat with the fake mana and inviting all his men in to celebrate?

Bodie took his hand away from the semi-erect cock, knowing he’d never feel able to touch it again, then moved off the prince’s legs and shifted back against the wall. He should be thinking about getting dressed. Fetching his stuff from the gym. The prince had drawn his legs up, was turned from Bodie so his groin was hidden, and he seemed in a frantic rush to get himself bandaged up and tucked away. When he was finished, he sank onto his side in the same defensive curl, his right arm drawn up to cover his face.

Bodie waited for the breathing to get less ragged, less like tears, but it seemed it never would—or not while he was still sitting here on the same bunk. He eased himself down off the side, landing with barely a thump, and dressed quickly. Would it be OK to wander around the station bare-chested? No, not from what he’d seen. He climbed halfway up the ladder and reached across to fetch his top from the far side of the bunk. “Ray?” Very gentle. “I’m going to the gym to get my clothes. I won’t be long. Unless you want me to be?” He waited a few seconds for any response, then let himself out.


	23. Chapter 22

## Chapter 22

God, was he really still on Lunda Sul Station? Back in good old limbo after a whirlwind tour of hell. Jesus. Would Ray be OK going back by himself? No, of course he wouldn’t. While under the shower in the changing-room, Bodie accepted that fact that he would have to take the trip back with him, keep him out of gimana until they were in range of the lab and the flasks. Well, what was a two month delay on a three month journey? Bang on time, in British Rail terms.

He went to his cabin after the gym to rinse out his kit. It was while he was turning off the water for the cold rinse that the swing of his wrist, the clunk into the Off position started his bones thinking—and then his mind.

Not a winder or a release screw or anything like that. A switch. Turn on. Turn off.

Christ! Could it be? Could it?

Bodie wrung out his top until it would barely need drying, but hung it up in the shower anyway. Then the same with the shorts.

Did he have it in—“fitted”—that day at the castle? The last time Bodie had seen his cock. Well, you might argue that Bodie would have been too stunned to really notice, but… No. No man would ever “not notice” a thing like that. Your whole body would notice it for you, feed it to you in nightmares.

So. Not fitted when he was deepest in gimana, then. But some time in that week and a half between the funeral and his first late-night visit. And from that visit he’d never let Bodie see him out of his Y-fronts, he’d head straight for the other bathroom in the morning.

“You little _bastard_!” Bodie surged up, needing to hit something. Not, however, his head on the bottom of the bunk. He thudded to his knees on the floor, clutching the back of his head, and cursing the prince with the full power of his lungs. When the worst of the pain was over, he shuffled out into the narrow space alongside the bunk, stood up carefully, and laid into the wall with his feet and fists. He didn’t really register that he’d found a sharp edge somewhere until the rage shifted mood from slit-eyed to staring, and he saw the smears of blood on the walls.

“It should be yours, you little _fuck_!” Once last, almighty punch with his good hand, and then he slumped to the side, against the door.

Well, that put him back on schedule for getting to Earth, anyway. No more Good Samaritan from _this_ set of glands. Teeth bared, Bodie was at the wardrobe in a single step, snapping his kitbag into shape and packing at top speed. He only just remembered the clothes in the shower, and nearly broke the fastener on his washbag in his impatience to get finished and get out. Let someone else deal with the blood and the dents. He’d had enough of doing the right thing.

Out where, though? Not so obvious once he was in the corridor. Jump on the first ship, wherever it was going? Yeah, and spend the next ten years living in a tent with a pack of farting, dog-faced killers, getting paid by some twisted alien government to butcher its own people. No, let’s try a new mistake this time.

Hide out in the holds until the Agu Set came in? Only three days. Wouldn’t be that difficult. Yeah, but who owns the Agu Set, Bodie? Who owns this whole fucking station? You might get on the Agu Set, but you can bet it won’t leave. Or it’ll turn back after a day. And he’ll be waiting at the hatch.

No, he won’t, if I go and tell him I’ve worked it out. Tell him what I think of him and his gods and his stupid biology and his whole lousy species.

* * * * *

The prince had moved to the other end of the bunk and was sitting cross-legged, propped against a pillow, with a mug resting on his knee. He smiled down at Bodie, probably misled about Bodie’s expression by the dim light by the door. “I got you the weakest kenit they could make.” There was another mug on the shelves at the far side of the bunk. “Might still be warm enough that you can - What’s wrong? Bodie?” Seconds later, he had lukewarm, milky kenit streaming down his face, dripping from his nose. Jerkily, he raised a hand to wipe his eyes clear, then blinked them open and stared at Bodie’s white-faced fury. After about a minute, he tried a smile. “Well, I knew you didn’t really like kenit. What should I get next time?”

“No next time. You thought a human would be too backward to think it through? I know about that thing in your cock. What you’ve been using it for. I’m getting on the Agu Set when it comes in. And there’d better be no more fucking diversions, or I’ll be ripping that thing out of you the long way.” He jumped down off the bunk, shouldered his kitbag, and turned to open the door.

“No! No, don’t. You _don’t_ know.” The prince had landed almost on top of him, was trying to push him away from the door.

“Not know the lengths you’ll go to get my mana without having to have sex with me? Christ, Ray, why did you _come_ here? I set up the _perfect_ husband for you back home. Why don’t you get on the next ship so you can whisper sweet nothings to all those jars in the lab?”

“No. No. You’ve got it all wrong.” The prince was yearning towards him, reaching out. Bodie batted the hands away.

“All wrong? Let’s run a test, shall we?” Bodie let the kitbag fall. “Here’s a double bed. Here’s your husband, asking you for a good hard fuck. Flip the switch, and let’s get on with it.”

The prince closed his eyes, face tortured. “I can’t, Bodie. You’ve no idea how I - But I can’t.”

Bodie raised his left arm as if it held a clip-board. “Test: failed.” A stab at the imaginary score-sheet with the right hand. Then he picked up his kitbag once more. “If you’ll just stand back, I’ll be on my way.”

“No. No. Bodie. Everything _will_ be exactly as you want it. If you just _wait_ with me.”

An exasperated sigh. “Wait for what? The next moon to explode?”

“For me to adjust. I love you so much. I’ve missed you so much. It _has_ to happen.”

“‘Adjust.’ You’ve been saying that for years. I haven’t noticed a blind bit of difference. What _is_ the fucking problem?”

Agonised: “Don’t! I can’t _tell_ you.”

“Then I sure as hell can’t think of staying. Oh, for God’s sake!”

“It’s for _your_ sake.”

“Oh, it would be. Mister Self-Sacrifice. Your middle name.”

“It _is_.”

“Well, put it on a postcard. I’m sure it’ll melt my heart. Bring me back running.”

“You’ll want to kill me.”

“I already do. I have had. Enough.”

At that, the prince threw himself back against the door, ground the heels of his hands into his sockets, and rocked his head from side to side, snarling and whining. Abruptly, that was over, and he had turned sideways on to the door, his face hidden from Bodie, and one hand raised to the Open button. “If I go to get more kenit, will you still be here?”

“Yes.”

He was back in a matter of minutes. Bodie had stayed in the same spot, still holding his kitbag, letting the door stand open.

“I - I think we’d better sit down.”

There was nowhere but the bed. Bodie shrugged, hoisted himself up to sit with his legs over the side, and held both mugs while the prince climbed the ladder. The kenit was very weak. Should ask Ray the secret. Well, not much point now, when he’d soon be back drinking proper tea.

“Well?”

“Oh, I don’t - There’s no way of… I want you more than, more than…” He paused, swallowed noisily, licked his lips. “I dream about us fucking. Every night. Oh. Every day. But -” Bodie refused to prompt him, waited out the long pause. “The gods know about every single thing I want to do with you, and they… They come to me at night and tell me… that it would be keklinas. That I’d be shunned by the esrulin on all the days of my funeral. And worse. That it doesn’t matter that you want it too.” Now a whisper: “That they know beyond argument that you’re an animal.”

The mug slid from Bodie’s hand, bounced off his foot, came to rest somewhere under the bunk. Some time later, the prince was kneeling beside him, coaxing him into lying down, then murmuring to him, stroking his arm and his back.

* * * * *

“But they’ll let you have me as a pet.”

The gentling hand was snatched away, but only briefly. A shuddering sigh, then: “I suppose so. I know it’s not really the gods, that it’s something still left in me. And I’m desperate for it to just fucking go away. Because it’s stupid. Stupid. Stupid. All year, I told it, ‘Look. Look at us. Could you guess which was isidrol and which was the glarus? Can’t you see?’ But I’d still feel, in my dreams, that they were watching me every second. And I had to get the dumut fitted, or I wouldn’t have been able to come near you without…” Another sigh.

“What did you tell your doctor?”

“I went to one I knew wouldn’t ask any questions. I found him through Records. From when he’d been investigated. He seemed to think it was some… game I wanted to play with my husband. Well, wife was what he said.”

“What does it do? Keep the blood out?”

“Yeah. Our men use them if they really don’t want to qualify. Don’t even want to be tempted. But no real doctor would fit one to a qualified man.”

“You should have told me.”

“Oh, how could I? Look at you. I couldn’t tell you. Just… ‘Wait.’ That’s all. ‘Wait.’ I knew you were disappointed. Of course you were. That’s why I told you to find some sex somewhere else. While we were waiting. Though I didn’t mean you to - Three weeks holiday! When you never even -”

“He didn’t exist, Ray. Remember? Last time I had off work was your mother’s funeral. You are a very strange person.”

The prince slumped onto the bed next to him, on his back, frowning at the ceiling. “Oh. Of course. It’s… all the time I spent thinking about the two of you. Him making you laugh. That you’d be playing at finding a new way to fuck every place you stopped. That you’d not even be thinking about me when you sent the containers off. Maybe you even let _him_ send them. I was _so_ … Took the fucking thing out and fucked my way around half the town. Knew I could _smell_ the rakez on you.”

“What an advert for higher evolution _you_ are! Isidrol, my arse. You know what a rabbit is? God, I bet half the names on your sodding tomb are ‘Thumper’ and ‘Mister Fluffy’.”

The prince might not have caught the finer details, but he got the message. He blushed, looked briefly affronted, and then laughed long and hard, ending on a distinct note of relief. A very strange person.

Bodie had propped himself up on an elbow as he waited. “Well, if you’ve got a sense of humour about it now, does that mean you’re suddenly over it? Ready to rip my clothes off and get on with being a good and faithful husband?” It was not said in a spirit of hope.

Just as well. The prince went very serious, and shook his head.

“How long, then, Ray? What’s your best guess?”

Pained: “I don’t know.”

“Has there been _any_ change?”

“Well… It depends on the…”

“There hasn’t, has there? They’re all standing around you, nagging, exactly the same.” The prince’s expression was all the answer he needed. “Oh, _bloody_ hell.” He rolled onto his back and pressed his hands hard to his face. This was impossible. No, he probably wouldn’t leave now. It did make enough difference that Ray still wanted him, whatever kind of pathetic romantic that made him. And if things fell apart again, there was always the lab and the jars, there would always be another ship out.

“Ray…” Very slowly. “If I do come back, I want us to live together. In Dishna, in Parass, wherever. I’ve spent enough of my life waiting for you to adjust. I want us to be as married as we _can_ be. And I’m going to have to think about letting you go out to your bloody bars. And I’ll weld that thing _shut_ until I’ve decided.”

“Of course.” Easy acceptance. Maybe admitting about the nagging gods had been all he needed. Good old-fashioned bullying. None of that adult talking shit. He and Ferros should compare notes.

“Good. Good. Then I suppose we can go and book ourselves on the next flight home.”

It was astonishing, the speed with which the prince moved from lying on his back to kneeling looking down at Bodie. He was radiant with delight, surprise, relief. Bodie smiled up at him, more amused and resigned than anything. “Oh, Bodie. I - I -” Abandoning speech, he braced himself on his hands and lowered himself to press his lips to Bodie’s.

Bodie sighed and opened his mouth—and the contact was broken immediately. The prince looked guilty and reproachful, and Bodie found himself exasperated rather than wounded. “So they won’t even let you do that. Jesus! Who would think that Udom Kol and Embrun would be so bloody strict? Don’t let them bully you. After all, _they_ got you into this.”

That got a slight smile, but no sudden change of heart. Bodie frowned, cupped a hand around Ray’s knee, then gnawed at his lower lip as this idea of bullying suddenly pushed itself a stage further. No. Jesus, no. Fucking terrible idea. And he couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t do that to Ray. But… What if…?

“Gotta take a leak. Must be all this kenit I haven’t drunk.”

The prince grinned, and made a show of checking his curls for dampness as he moved out of the way so Bodie could get to the ladder. Bodie went to the bathroom, emptied his bladder—which could have held out for a few hours yet—then dragged his kitbag off to a corner and quickly found his tube of handcream.

Back up on the bunk, face grim, he slapped the tube down on the mattress between them. “You lied to me, didn’t you, when you said it needed a doctor to take that thing out? You can do it perfectly well yourself. When you’re in the mood to fuck half the town.”

The prince swallowed, then shrugged. “It _does_ need a doctor. To put it back in.”

“But you’re not going to put it back in. You’re going to take it out. Now. Because you’re about to be raped by an animal. And there’s nothing. Nothing at all. That will prevent it. Or protect you.”

The prince shrank back against the far wall, eyes narrowed in alarm and speculation.

“Now, Ray. Or I’ll take it out for you. But I wouldn’t trust an animal to find the easiest way. If I were you.”

“I - I can’t.”

“You can.” He moved forward, pushed the prince’s knees down and clamped them between his thighs, and then used both hands to open the trousers. The prince was making no effort to stop him, seeming frozen in fear. “Lift up. If you _want_ to make this easier.” Swift obedience, though the effect was small while Bodie held the legs immobile. He released his grip, and was soon able to get the trousers and Y-fronts down to the thighs. Yank the shoes and socks off, fierce and impatient, then the trousers thrown against the wall, then the Y-fronts dropped to the floor

“What are you waiting for? I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

In fact, the shaking of his hands made the prince slower to remove the strip this time than last. When it was off, he held it up then looked around the room—anywhere but at Bodie—seeming unable to decide what to do with it. Bodie snatched it away and flicked it back over his shoulder.

“Now.”

The trick was with the winder, but you had to push it inwards once you got to the Open position, and then ease it over some kind of stop, and then it pulled right off the end. There were actually several rods in there, bundled side-by-side, of different shapes and colours, and they had to be removed one by one before the prince, breath held and eyes closed, took hold of the small button and slowly drew out the last rod. Bodie forced himself to watch although the effect on his erection was much as before. When it was over, the prince drew a sigh of relief, opened his eyes, and put the piece down on the shelf with the others.

“That _was_ the easy part. Now you have the animal to deal with. And you know, don’t you, how hungry you’ve kept him? Lie down. Let him get at you.”

Again, obedience. Fear was clearest in the wide eyes, but the resignation and acceptance were easy to read. Bodie lowered himself alongside him, forcing the legs apart with a knee. He locked his right hand in the curls and his left about the collar of the shirt, and then pulled himself down.

The prince’s mouth opened to him at the first pressure, so he was able to be gentle right from the start. He felt the quiver of reaction, the long groan, the lips parting wider still. He drew back, tasted the lips with his tongue, closed his mouth so he could feel their fullness against the line of his own lips. The most beautiful mouth. His memories, his fantasies, had been exact.

“When I go into your mouth again, you will meet me with your tongue. Do you understand? You will kiss the animal as if you were kissing a person. You will lie there as he puts his saliva in your mouth. Makes it mix with yours.” He glared down, eyebrows raised, waiting until he got the nod of confirmation, and then they were kissing as they used to, with the prince the first to venture from gentleness.

Bodie made himself stop the instant he felt the prince’s hand on his hair. He pushed back to kneeling, shaking his head, face grim. “Stupid. Thinking you can pet _this_ animal. Thinking you can save yourself by making a friend of him. That’s not what happens when an animal is set on rape. I need to remind you what _is_ going to happen.” Looking at the prince’s face all the while, he opened his trousers, freed his cock, and displayed it, stroking it fully erect. Was Ray getting too eager? Hard to guess what would be best in the long term. “It’s an animal’s cock, isn’t it, Ray? And in a very short time you’ll have it inside your arse. There’s nothing at all you can do to stop that. Is there? And if you feel like yelling out for Udom Kol or one of them, you can tell ‘im ‘e’s getting the same treatment when I’m finished with you.”

“Do it now then.” Tense, gasping. “Get it done. You think all this talking’ll take you even close to being a person? You’re wasting your time. Get it done.”

“Then the last thing the animal will say to you before he rapes you: get your shirt off.”

Once they were both naked, Bodie stretched out on top of the prince, lying still and heavy for the kiss, and then rubbing their erections together so that the other man cried out and arched up. This time Bodie accepted the hands, digging tight into his backside and his shoulder.

“Get it done! You could have been finished by now, you makon. Get it done!”

Bodie’s turn to obey. He’d wanted to taste Ray’s cock first, but it looked—and sounded—as if Ray was too close. He turned around to the head of the bunk, shoved clothes aside until he found a pillow. The prince was already waiting with his legs raised when Bodie came to push the pillow under his hips. The fingers made him moan, but for the cock he fell silent. Listening to his gods? Or just listening to his nerves? The insistent pushes from his ankles gave Bodie the best clue.

The prince came first, with the briefest encouragement from Bodie’s hand, and Bodie followed soon after. They lay entwined, hands drifting, as the excitement ebbed. Bodie had decided to leave it to the prince to speak.

The first new sound, however, was the sound of Bodie shivering. They set the heating very low when a cabin wasn’t being used, and Ray certainly hadn’t taken the time to settle in. The controls were on the wall near the door, and he came back to the bunk as soon as he’d set the temperature. The prince was smiling up at him.

“So, Ray.” Very gentle, genuinely wanting to know. “If your gods come visiting tonight, what’re you going to tell them? If you tell them anything.”

“I had sex with an animal. He lives with me. He’s my husband. He’ll want to rape me again. And I won’t be able to stop him.”

Not quite what Bodie had hoped. But what did he expect? To clear up a lifetime’s brainwashing with just one good fuck? Or was Ray telling him that he understood perfectly how Bodie had set things up? That it was going to work? Hard to tell.

“When d’you think he’ll want to rape you again?”

“Today? I think today.” They both looked down and saw the prince’s cock twitching. Sensing that this was all still very serious for the prince, Bodie struggled not to smile.

“Do you think he’ll be able to wait until you’re on a ship heading for home?”

“Oh.” An anguished groan, and eyes closed tight. “I don’t know. He’s so hungry. He might not be able to wait. Or it might be as soon as we’ve found our cabin. Or it might be tonight.”

“Would it be easier on you if you knew which ship? When it was leaving? You might not even get on a ship today.”

“Oh, we will. There’s five or six a day from here. I’ll commandeer a cabin if they say they’re full.” Now that was Ray.

“D’you want to go and sort it out, then? I’d just get in the way. I’ll finish up in here. Did you _bring_ any luggage?”


	24. Chapter 23

## Chapter 23

They were on their way in two hours. Bodie was mildly concerned about the various stains they were leaving in the two cabins: blood, kenit, semen. It was partly because of the story that they suggested, and partly a feeling that he ought to be paying for repairs and replacements. Should they leave the number of their bank account? Then the prince reminded him that it came under “expenses”—and Malun was meeting those for both of them.

The ship was a medium-sized freighter. The prince hadn’t said if he’d had to pull rank to get them on board, but if he had, he might have pulled harder: they were in yet another standard cabin. Bodie didn’t want an admiral’s suite or anything, just a bed with a higher ceiling. That low roof could cramp your style at the best of times, and he’d prefer more options for his style while Ray was still… adjusting.

They collected towels and bedlinen on their way to the cabin, with the prince navigating while Bodie complained that that wasn’t supposed to mean that he’d carry _everything_. The cabin wasn’t designed to allow two to make up the bunk, and somehow Bodie ended up doing the worst of that while the prince just fitted the covers to the quilt and the pillows and then wandered out of the room. However, when he came back with some kenit and a pack of biscuits, Bodie forgave all.

Shoes off, they propped themselves up against the pillows, with their arms around one another.

“What happened, then? How did you find out I’d gone?”

“Well… I waited for two days into the week after your holiday had run out. And then I came over on the At Rhaden night. Found your room stripped. And I thought you must have moved in with him. I was - Angry. Frightened. Angry, mostly. So I marched over to get Ferros to tell me his address. And she told me you’d gone, and I was supposed to know all about it. And she called Malun. And he immediately arranged to get you stopped at Lunda Sul. And got me on the next ship out. Which was the next morning.”

Bodie was shaking his head. “How did I ever think I could get away? I _didn’t_ think, beyond just being gone.”

“ _Do_ you want to go home? Was that part of it? Because we can move there any time you want. I’ve come so close to asking if you wanted to, so many times. Don’t know why I didn’t.”

“I don’t want to. That was the last thing I was thinking of. I don’t really think of it as home any more.”

“They lied to you, didn’t they, your people? To get you to marry me.”

“It looks like that. Who told you? Malun?”

“Mostly. He thought that might be what was behind you wanting to leave. Not them lying. But the way it started. That you’d always felt trapped.”

“No. The first day was bad, but… I trusted you completely from the first time we kissed.” Seeing the prince’s smile, Bodie got both of their mugs out of the way on the shelf, and turned to curl over him, mouth parting.

“Oh. It’s now. He wants me now.” Utter satisfaction, but he still needed to give himself permission before they could even kiss.

“What do you think he wants?”

A frown of thought, which kept on reviving between kisses. “I think… I’ve heard… That he likes to have a person fucking him. He likes to pretend that he can be tamed. So he might make me do that.”

“Oh, Ray, terrible for you.” If Ray could keep a straight face, then so could he. “Is that the worst thing he could make you do with him?” He started unbuttoning Ray’s shirt, pushing his fingers inside.

“No. I - I don’t know what would be worst.” He arched his back, urging Bodie’s fingers back towards his nipple.

“What do the gods say?”

“Everything. It’s all the same. Anything that might excite me. That I should be doing with a person.”

“Like this?” The nipple was erect. He centred it in the palm of his hand, squeezed Ray’s breast as he used to.

“Yes. Yes.”

“And if he sucked your cock before he made you fuck him?”

“No! No, please.”

“Ah, Ray.” He drew his fingers slowly down the lean, struggling torso. “Sometimes he doesn’t bother pretending.”

* * * * *

All of the ships and stations in the fleet kept the same time, which was set to Pen Embrun’s equivalent of Greenwich Mean Time, where Greenwich wasn’t, surprisingly, Monor. The two of them had a late lunch, then made a slow tour of the facilities. The crew numbered over a hundred, which seemed to entitle it to a gulshor court. The communal equipment was in the usual locker next to the court, opened by ID card: you lose it, we charge you for it.

“Fancy a game?”

“Later. Let’s finish looking round.” But the prince went back to the court, opened the door and stood looking in. When Bodie came close enough, he put a hand on his shoulder and leaned to whisper in Bodie’s ear. “I think he might bring me here at night, to rape me.”

Bodie swallowed, then whispered back. “He’d better know how to be quiet. How to make you stay quiet, too.”

No longer whispering: “He can make me do anything.”

* * * * *

In the library, Bodie mentioned the book, which he was now very keen to see finished and in use, and they returned to this subject when they ended the tour with glasses of tegal juice in the main observation lounge. It was a dry ship—they all were—which was all very sensible, but went against the mood of this particular pair of passengers.

“We’ll stay at Clover, then, while you and Anis finish it.”

“Oh, God, no. We can work on it anywhere. That’s all planned out. And it’s not a full-time thing anyway. I’ll need to find a proper job.”

“Cargo?”

Bodie shrugged. “I don’t mind that. But I know how to get by in Hass Embrun now. How to teach myself what I need to know. I can try for something better. Maybe think about college or something in a year or two. If Malun’ll still lend us the money.”

“Anything to get rid of us, I’d think. He wasn’t exactly pleased with me, either.”

“What about _your_ work, Ray? What’re you going to tell them this time?”

A pause, and a succession of different frowns. “The truth, I think. That my husband turned out to be a new kind of glarus. And I reacted very badly when I found out. Like an esgont. But he had the patience to make me see things properly. And I’m lucky enough that he still wants me as a husband.”

“Wow. And you can live with that? With people knowing.”

“It’s not done me any good, being scared. And what it’s done to you… It’s time. I wish there was someone here I knew, who’d be worth telling.”

“Can we move back to Parass? To the same kind of flat? I need to get it out of my system. You know?”

“I’ll send a message to Ferros. As soon as we’re through the jump. Contact all the blocks. Get them to put us down for anything on that corner. Message to our bank, too, about a loan. Let’s see if we can get _something_ done without the family.”

* * * * *

Later, after dinner, Bodie leaned forward to pause their evening’s film. “Have you thought about us going back to being Udom Kol and Embrun? Or would it just be impossible now?”

“I have thought about it. I don’t know. I threw my suit away. First thing.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, exasperated with himself.

“I gave mine to Homa. To give to one of his brothers. Would it be impossible?”

“Depends on Malun. Probably should leave it a while before we ask him. Would you like to?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. Though it almost doesn’t seem enough any more. What did that two know? They had it so bloody easy. Had all their choices made for them. I think we need some new masks. A chance to play ourselves.”

* * * * *

Their third time was the easiest yet, the prince taking the initiative maybe even more than he realised. Afterwards, they sank into contented sleep, a sleep so sound that the warning tone for the jump didn’t even make it into their dreams, and they slept on as they were brought into direct reach of their home.

In the morning, they wrote to Ferros, telling her that they’d made good progress in sorting out their various problems—without going into any details—and asking for her help in obtaining the right type of flat in Parass. Bodie added his apologies for the lies that he’d told them, and said that he knew that Malun was very, very angry with him; he wanted to start his apologies to Malun immediately, but first wanted her advice on the best approach to take. Ray wrote to Malun directly, bringing him up to date, assuring him that Bodie’s actions had been entirely reasonable under the circumstances—again, without details—and asking him if he was willing to accept a message from Bodie.

It was four days before they got any replies, with Malun’s arriving first. He said he was relieved that Bodie was coming back, but that any communication with Bodie could wait until they were all together at Clover. Ferros said that there weren’t any apartments on that corner available immediately, but that there was one very close to a corner, facing the sea. She’d been to see it, thought they would like it, so why didn’t they take that while they were waiting for one on the corner to come free? If they were interested, then she would put up their first instalment of rent, and move their possessions for them, ready for when they got back. They were interested, and the prince wrote back immediately, giving her the address of his flat in Dishna.

They filled the days as well as they could, but the anticipation made them both restless. Still, “restless” was luxury compared with what they’d been feeling on their journeys out, and they reminded each other of that at least once a day.

The prince’s approach to sex with Bodie didn’t seem to change much after that first night. He was clearly willing and eager and grateful, but he still couldn’t ask directly for what he wanted, and he couldn’t make the first move. Always, he had to have his ritual exchange, however brief, with ‘the animal’. Bodie wondered what sort of arguments he was having with his gods through all this: if they were haggling over terms for surrender, or were simply blocked, at an impasse. He and Ray needed to talk, to decide on the next stage, but it could wait until they got home.


	25. Chapter 24

## Chapter 24

They came into orbit over Monor in the early afternoon of At Oba Nyon, and were on one of the first shuttlecraft down to the spaceport. Malun had left the key to the car at the main desk, along with Bodie’s other cards, and the car was outside, maybe even in exactly the same space. Before they set off for Clover, the prince called Ferros and asked if she needed any shopping done. She did, and they took a detour to the outskirts of Monor in order to get Ferros’ items as well as the wine and clothes from their own lists.

“Well. You look very well, Bodie, for your week’s holiday on Lunda Sul. You’ll be going back next year, will you?”

“I might. If they can promise me the same room. It was the view that made it, of course.”

“That’s what I hear.” Not exactly a gushing welcome from Ferros, but who could blame her? They were all in the kitchen with mugs of kenit and mugs of tea. “So how long did it take you to sort yourselves out?”

They looked at one another, shrugged, and it was the prince who answered. “A few hours.”

“A few hours. What was this problem then, that you managed to sort out in a few hours? You didn’t like the curtains here in Bodie’s room, or something? I’ve been saying for years those chairs have to go.”

“It was - It was all my fault. I can’t really tell you. I’d just got some very stupid ideas in my head. Bodie brought me to my senses.”

“Good.” A pause. “But, casta, Ray! Spending every weekend here for over a year. In _my_ house! And refusing to let us know. How can there be room enough in that little head for quite so many _stupid_ ideas? I should have sat on you harder back in the days when I was still bigger than you.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I -” He put his hand on Bodie’s shoulder. They knew there would be questions like this, and had agreed on the ship how much they would say. “You wouldn’t believe, but… I couldn’t bear for anyone to know that I was seeing Bodie. For anyone but him to know how much I needed to be with him.”

“You can’t be saying you were ashamed of him.” Homa was incredulous.

“Of course not. No. I don’t deserve him. I knew that from the start. But…”

“Ray had problems with some of the feelings he had about me. And it’s better if we don’t tell you any more than that.”

“Oh.” Homa nodded, frowning, and then he and Ferros were quiet for a while, imaginations presumably running riot. Bodie couldn’t quite believe that he’d brought himself to say even that much, but Ray’s family had every right to be angry with them, and some degree of honesty was definitely owing.

Soon afterwards, the children insisted on attention, and Bodie and the prince went off to settle properly into their room—they were in Cam Chara, the room they’d had on their first visit to the castle—and then to put their travel clothes in to wash, and to reclaim their sheets from the linen store and Bodie’ books from the library. Homa hadn’t had time to offer Bodie’s other clothes to his brothers, and those containers were already in the flat at Parass. As for the records and tapes, Bodie would be contacting Anthropology about those in his own good time.

Malun arrived by flyer at about six, and again they all gathered in the kitchen, though with wine this time. Malun’s questions were different, but their answers were much the same.

“And you’re here to stay this time, are you? Ray, I hope after this you’ll see some advantage in giving your family the means to contact you. It will do much to simplify matters the next time Bodie insists he has to leave.”

“All that’s over. We’re both sorry.” The prince.

“It seemed the only thing to do. At the time. But it won’t happen again.” Bodie.

“Hmm. Well. It was actually Ward who asked us all what else we’d been expecting.” A raised hand. “Not from you two in particular. But given the situation. He thinks you’ve both been very restrained. I’m not ready to agree with him yet.”

The atmosphere eased as they made their way through the wine, especially after Malun decided that he would stay the night. They talked about the family and the business and how Bodie would work on the book from Parass.

They were on the fourth bottle when Ray surprised them all, including Bodie, by saying to Malun, “We want to wear Udom Kol and Embrun again. What do you think?”

“What do I think?” A long, frowning pause. “I’m not… It raises some problems.”

“Like what?”

“Like whether or not we can put the masks together. Since Bodie is glarus.”

“You said at the funeral that it was enough that _I_ am addicted to _him_. That that made it an esmana marriage. You’ve already answered that. So what else?”

A very long pause. “I need. To be sure. That you’re going to stay together. And we don’t know yet, do we? I think that the next time we put those masks together, we need to be as sure as we can be that they’ll stay like that for thirty or forty years.”

“Oh. Then what if I ask again in three or four years?”

“That sounds sensible.”

* * * * *

Later, when they were preparing for a late-night bath, the prince said, “It was too soon to ask him about Udom Kol and Embrun. I should have thought.”

“That we’d split up? When were you supposed to start thinking that?”

“But we could. Couldn’t we? I suppose.”

“Yeah. But I think we’ll be OK. Even if it’s not always the same as it is now. Look, you spent a year thinking I was the devil sent to suck your bones dry. And here you are. And I spent a year thinking that you didn’t want me any more. And here we are. So if we can get over all that, I think we’ve got a good chance. So let’s leave it for three or four years and ask again.”

In the bath, after a first, thorough soaping, the prince started fingering his own right nipple, face intent and almost as if he was alone. As Bodie watched, he closed his eyes and then reached for his cock with his free hand. Bodie watched, entranced, for a minute more, then leaned forward as he had three years before, and took the erect nipple into his mouth. They sighed together. Bodie waited for Ray to produce his ritual words, but they never came.

“Where’s the gel? I have to have you.”

“I’ll get it.” And the prince was out of the bath and searching his washbag, exactly as before.

“No. Turn around.” Ray’s welcome was so complete that it seemed the greatest self-denial—a year’s worth of gimana—to pull out. But it was the right thing to do. It was what Ray expected. And Ray made it more than worthwhile. Once was enough, though. He didn’t ever want to leave Ray again.

* * * * *

Thanks to jet lag—or jump lag—they weren’t tired, despite the wine and the bath. They lay talking about their plans for the next day and about the family’s reactions. There were pauses from time to time, and during these they lay listening to the river. Some fifteen seconds into one of the pauses, Bodie said, “What have your gods been saying to you recently, Ray? Have they changed their minds about me?”

An intake of breath, then another pause. “No. They won’t. They won’t listen to reason.”

“Well. It’s only been a couple of weeks.”

“No. It’s been over a year. They don’t see any difference in what’s been happening recently. It’s all the same. To them.”

“What about to you? What is it to you?”

“I - I can’t give you up. If I thought I’d never have you again, I’d - It would be worse than gimana. A hundred times worse. So…” A deep sigh. “Whatever you are, then I am too. Does that make you Udom Kol and me Embrun now?”

“Does it bother you? How much does it bother you? And what about the gods?”

“It - Less and less. I feel… that this must be how it was for you. Leaving everything you’d known. It’s frightening, still, but it’ll be worth it. And you’re there, on the other side, to look after me.” His tone changed. “Which is more than _I_ did. With you. And after all I promised you at the start. I wish…” A sigh. “… you’d knocked me out cold that night. When you dragged me back from the door. Or away from your stereo. Maybe then we’d have had some chance of talking when I came round.”

“It’s a nice thought. I’ll take it as an order for next time. What about the gods, Ray? How much does it bother them?”

“They’ll have disowned me within a week. Their loss.”

Bodie grinned. _Their loss._ Ray was priceless. Even if it was nine parts bravado. “So what’s going to happen within a week?”

“I’ll be able to do this.” And he raised himself, took gentle hold of Bodie’s head, and bent to kiss him.

When Bodie’s mouth was next free: “Within a week, eh? I’ll look forward to that.”

“Me too.”

“And this is us, then? They’re not going to start a campaign to get you back?”

“I can’t see why they’d bother. And what have they got to offer me? They’d been telling me all this time that I needed them. That I’d be lost without them. But they were wrong.”

“But - You still want us to wear Udom Kol and Embrun? Isn’t that…?”

“Mmm.” Considering. “I still think they’re important. That they’re about things that _are_ valuable. In the past I always thought they were about an esmana marriage. And nothing else. But now… I think you’re more than worthy to wear Embrun. If there _is_ a problem, it’s whether _I_ ’m up to wearing Udom Kol. You know, I almost wish we could do it so we didn’t have to pretend it’s a full esmana marriage. And why can’t Gagras stay whole once in a while? Life’s more complicated than we’re admitting.”

“I think we’d better leave it for another ten years before we run that one by Malun.”

* * * * *

Ray cooked lunch for them all the next day, then Bodie tidied up while Ray and Malun made the arrangements to get the two of them and their luggage across to Parass. The necessary tags, containers and badges had arrived by three, and then it was just a matter of collecting their clothes from the laundry and packing them. The farewells were brief, since they’d agreed over breakfast that they would visit again in two weeks.

Ferros had obtained the coordinates of the flat, so the transporter operator on board Nadiac Station was able to send them there directly. Bodie had been expecting an L-shaped living room, exactly the same as the other one, but this room was nearly square. It took him several seconds of looking around, feeling disoriented, before he realised that he’d know all along, from visits to Plassen’s flat, that the flats along the sides of the pyramid had a different layout. With proper windows only along one wall, the designers had turned the bedroom around so that the living area got a larger share of the outside wall, and they’d got rid of the corridor inside the flat. There was also a long window high on the innermost wall, bringing in some diffuse light from the inside of the pyramid.

The living room was unfurnished. Indeed, they didn’t even have a bed. The prince had left all of the furniture in the other flat—wanting to make a complete break, as he’d admitted—and he hadn’t had to buy any furniture for the flat he’d taken in Dishna. Ferros had considered buying them some furniture when she was supervising the move the previous weekend, but had decided against it since the communication lag meant she wouldn’t able to confer with them first.

“My plants. What d’you bet that she didn’t actually water them?” Ferros had had the plants put out onto the balcony and the prince was unbolting the doors.

“I don’t bet anything. I’ve heard her speech about how plants are stupid.” It was true: she regarded the giving of flowers as a hostile act.

There were only five pots, all small. Two of the plants apparently had a good chance of recovery, but the others looked very sad. “It must have rained while we were away. These were the ones I had outside the window.”

“How old are they? Are any of them from before?”

“No. I told the movers to give all of those to the roof garden. These two…” One dead, one recoverable. “… I did get as soon as I moved in there. Two was all I could cope with then. The others I got when I was feeling better.”

“It’s not much, though, compared with before. Must have been a small flat.”

“Pretty small. Come and have a look at it, if you like, before I give up the lease. Not that small, though. After the funeral, I knew…” A sigh. “… that what I wanted was to live with you again. Once…”

“The gods had stopped nagging you.”

“Yes. So even though I was feeling better. Could have coped with a jungle. What I _really_ wanted was to get out of there. I thought about you all the time. Did you know that?”

“Yeah? Even when you were fucking your other men?”

“Oh. There weren’t….as many as you probably think. At first, yes, just because suddenly I could. And then sometimes because I got it into my head that the gods would leave me alone if I showed that I could have normal sex.” Seeing Bodie’s expression, he shrugged. “I know. It was a middle-of-the-night, been-thinking-in-loops thing. And it didn’t work, and I stopped. And then at the end, OK, I was so angry with you about Bret. Frightened. I’m sorry. I swear… the only man I’ve been _thinking_ about, for sex, for being with… It’s you.”

“Did you wank, then? Did you think about me and wank? Like… I was doing on that night?”

Together, as if by instinct, they both looked to the left, across at the corner flats of the neighbouring building even though they knew that the building was At Pontal, the one at the far end of the line next to the ferry terminal—the flat where it had all happened was off to the right, out of sight on the other side of their pyramid.

“When I could. When they’d let me. When I set the dumut to akos…” He cupped his groin. “… then, oh, it would seem like twelve hours before I was in a state to set it back again. And I - The man almost never stayed the night. And after he’d gone, I’d think about you.”

“About what?”

“About the way it was before, mostly. Not about what it would be like at Clover. That was too close. Too dangerous. I thought a lot about… well, about taming you. I’m sorry.”

“Why sorry? I never complained before. Did I?”

The prince wouldn’t meet his eye. “It was different. I knew it was different.”

Bodie stepped forward and slid his hands around the prince’s waist. He’d meant to offer some quick words of reassurance but nothing seemed suitable, so he just held Ray. They stood together in silence through all the sounds of the midday ferry loading and departing. Once it was gone, the prince gave a deep sigh, and then they were in a long, gentle kiss.

“Well. However you’re thinking of taming me, we’ll probably find a bed useful.”

“Mmm. And a dining table and some chairs. And bookshelves.”

“Uh. All that to tame me? You _have_ been thinking differently.”

The prince laughed, and there was a shorter, rougher kiss before they went back into the flat, discussing the details of their plans for the next few hours.

* * * * *

Yata the carpenter didn’t keep a large stock, but the style of his stock items was clean and simple, perfectly easy to live with. They bought their mattress from him too, a good firm one, and asked him to make that the first priority for delivery. He promised that the mattress would be at the flat before five that day, and the other items before five the next day, and he was making the call to his delivery service as they left.

After that they went back to the pyramids, looking for a shop that sold the sort of backpacks that they used to use before when they went to the supermarket. The prince had thrown away—or probably destroyed—the two black ones they’d used before. He’d then immediately bought himself a green one, which he had with him now, but they knew they’d need a second one for Bodie before they went to the supermarket. There was no such shop in their new building, At Kamaran, or in At Pontal, to the left, so the next place to try was At Oba Nyon, their old building. There had been some changes in the small stalls, and they found what they were looking for at a stall near the supermarket. Bodie chose a black bag.

Since they were here, they might as well use this supermarket, where nothing seemed to have changed. They did the rounds very quickly, and were back in their flat within half an hour.

“We could make a start on unpacking our clothes, I suppose. Finding the bedding.” The prince’s quilt and pillows from his flat in Dishna must be stowed in one or other of the boxes in the bedroom.

“Not much to do. Look.” Bodie had just opened one of the boxes, and was holding up the list he’d found on the top of it. “Your sister’s too organised. Takes all the fun out of it. Might as well wait until we’ve got the mattress, at least.”

“Wait here?” Obviously not the prince’s first choice.

Bodie shrugged. “Or go for a walk. Bet they’ll take another couple of hours, easily.”

“Easily. Yeah, let’s go.”

Once out by the beach, they immediately headed north, to the dunes. It was a cloudy day, with a chill to the wind. Fine if you were dressed for it, but enough to keep the numbers on the beach down to weekday levels. They took the long way to the dunes, over the bridge, and settled at the far end, high up the slope, where there was no one else to be seen or heard. They were as close as they’d ever been to the place Bodie had chosen for their tomb. He wanted to ask Ray’s opinion on the site, but for the moment couldn’t think how to bring the subject up.

* * * * *

“You’ve been very quiet. I think something’s wrong. It is, isn’t it?”

Bodie shrugged, frowning, and said slowly, “I wouldn’t say ‘wrong’, but…”

“Not right.”

Another shrug. “Just… not how I expected.”

“Is it me? The apartment? Parass? What? What _did_ you expect?” Quiet and concerned.

“That it would be like starting again. As if nothing had happened. I hadn’t thought about… That this was where it _did_ happen. And I’ve been…” He sighed. “… walking around waiting for the _next_ thing to happen. Wondering what else you’ve still got to find out about me. Or when you’ll wake me up in the middle of the night and put me on the next ship home.”

The prince stared at him. “You can’t - You can’t really think I’d…”

“It’s just how I feel. Probably be over it tomorrow. Sooner. It’s… just not what I expected.”

“There’s no next thing, Bodie. I promise.”

Bodie raised his eyebrows. “Don’t see how you can know. You thought you knew the last time, didn’t you?”

The prince took his time framing a reply. Bodie watched his face as he clearly considered and rejected at least two possible approaches. Finally: “Whatever you are, then I am too. Always. That’s all I need to know. Is that… enough for you?”

Difficult to give an honest reply. Bodie didn’t really imagine that there was some new, terrible difference to be discovered. And he did believe that Ray had changed, in all the ways that would be important to them. But still there was this weight of apprehension lying cold in his gut. Was it worth worrying about? Probably not. Unless it was still there in a week’s time. That answer would be fine for Bodie himself, but Ray obviously wanted an answer that he could use immediately.

“Ray.” Quiet mock-reproof. “What a way to break it to a man, that he’s married a glarus. You’re lucky I’m tougher than I look.”

The prince blinked, disconcerted, then smiled. “Sorry. Thought you knew. Who but a glarus would fall in love with a dangerous alien soldier in less than six minutes? When they were _both_ supposed to be working.”

As if the penny had just dropped: “Of _course_. That explains everything.” They smiled at one another and settled closer together, and after a few minutes of comfortable silence Bodie was surprised to discover that he did feel measurably better.

* * * * *

“I wonder what would have happened.”

“When?” Bodie had been drowsing, but it took him only seconds to match Ray’s alert mood.

“When we first met. If we _had_ both been glarus.”

“Well. The same. In the end.”

“Yes, but how? I wonder.”

They’d been through some of this before, hadn’t they? Near enough. Bodie propped himself up on an elbow. “For a start, you’d have turned up again in that grey suit, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes. The next evening, probably.”

“Then I’d have given you the card I had ready, with my address. Told you what time I’d get back after the debriefing.”

“I’d go down, then, after you’d left. If I found your apartment quickly, I’d be there waiting for you.”

“And the next night? And the night after that.”

“Yes. And by then I probably wouldn’t wear the suit again. Or I’d stay at the other side of the room. I wouldn’t be able to come near you, not when we were both supposed to be working.”

Bodie nodded, and lay flat again. “After that… Let’s see… The next Tuesday was one of the days Malun had said would be a half day, wasn’t it? The team had given me the afternoon off. So on the Monday night I’d ask you if you wanted to come over in the afternoon. We’d go out. Stay in. Whatever.”

Now the prince propped himself up, looking down at Bodie. He was pulling a face. “I’ll be working.”

“Oh. Well, when this is over, then. We’ll make up for it then.” Seeing the prince’s frown deepen, he said, “I see. You’ll be flying straight back to Jakarta. Or Lisbon. Or wherever it is you’re based.”

“No, I - Further than that.” The prince swallowed. “I’m with the fleet.” He gestured at the sky. “The Hailin. I’m not human. I should have told you before.”

Bodie raised his eyebrows, opened his mouth, then shut it for a few moments. “I’d think you were taking the piss. That that was your way of telling me that you were with some secret branch. So secret even CI5 couldn’t hear about it. You’d have your work cut out to convince me.”

“What _would_ convince you?”

“Dunno. Seeing you use the transporter, maybe. Using it myself, but… you wouldn’t be able to show it to a human, would you? Not then.”

The prince was frowning. “Maybe I’d just disappear for that afternoon. Not even see Malun to make an excuse. I’d be useless, anyway, on the ship. Thinking of you down here without me all those hours. Knowing that you thought I was lying to you. Oh.” A long sigh. “I’d be completely addicted to you by then. Maybe I wouldn’t even know it, the changes would be so quick.”

“You’re glarus, Ray. Remember?”

“Oh. Yes. Well, I’d still be thinking of you. Just the same. If I did come for that afternoon. If you did see me use the transporter. Would that convince you?”

“Maybe. With a few days to let it sink in.”

“Would it change… what you wanted? How you felt.”

Bodie shrugged. “I’d think… that you’d be leaving soon. That I’d never see you again. Maybe I’d start to wonder if this was part of your job. With the fleet. Bedding the local men.”

Urgent, the prince reached for his hand, gripped it tight. “Then I’d ask you to come back with me. I’d get you anything you wanted. I’d ask you to marry me. Whatever you wanted.”

“And I’d say yes. Maybe I’d need to spend a couple more nights with you to be sure. But I’d say yes. What would Malun say, though? When you finally told him what you’d been up to. What sort of souvenir you wanted to bring home from Earth.”

The prince’s grip had eased, and he was smiling now. “Don’t think he’d be surprised, from what he knew of me then. Glarus or not. Probably tell me to start saving for your fare home, for when we’d had enough of each other. But we’d surprise him, eh?”

“Yeah.” And they still would. Bodie’s feeling of apprehension was nearly gone, which said much for the combined power of human and Hailin imagination. Ray _had_ changed. Maybe they both had. Those particular problems _were_ behind them. Their next problems would be ordinary, imaginable. The type of problems that every married couple had to face. God. What luxury.

* * * * *

When they got home, shortly after three, they found the mattress waiting in the hallway. The next few minutes were spent in wrestling it through the door, and in another minute it was in the bedroom, more-or-less lined up against the wall to the left of the window. They started on the unpacking.

The prince was the one to find the box with the bedding from the Dishna flat. He hauled it all out and stacked it at the head of the bed while Bodie was at the wardrobe, folding away some of the prince’s shirts.

“Bodie.” Drawn out. Almost a whisper. Bodie turned around, found the prince standing at the far side of the mattress, erection well-advanced. “I want you.”

Bodie went over to the foot of the bed, leaving a good yard between them. “Can see that.” His pulse hammered in his throat, between his legs. “How? How do you want me this time?”

“In your leathers. Which box would they be in?”

By the look of Ray, this was not the moment to tell him the truth. ”No. Not this time. You’ll have to think of something else.”

“Something else?” Hissed, and in the next second Ray was standing on the mattress looking down at him, one hand pulling at Bodie by the neck of his shirt, and the other at his belt-buckle. “I’ll give you this one chance to reconsider. Which box?”

“No. Something else.”

Bodie guessed that the prince’s next actions were instinctual, with no real plan in mind at that stage: opening Bodie’s trousers, pushing them down to his knees, and then pulling Bodie forward, to fall face-down on the bed. By the time Bodie got his breath back from that, the prince was kneeling hard on the back of Bodie’s thighs, hands exploring Bodie’s buttocks over the fabric of his Y-fronts. The situation seemed familiar, but the sensations utterly new.

After maybe a minute, two minutes, the left hand slid down, lay hot for some seconds at the very top of Bodie’s thigh, and then slid up again, but this time underneath the fabric. The fingers made straight for Bodie’s cleft, then one pressed in slowly, lubricated just enough by sweat from both of them. Bodie grunted, and struggled to push back with his hips, to urge it deeper. The finger stopped moving, then withdrew just as slowly.

“Put your hands behind your back.” Immediately, Bodie put his arms down by his side. “No. Crossed at the wrist. Behind your back.” Bodie obeyed, then heard the sound of Ray unbuckling his own belt, and his excitement leapt several notches higher. He’d never done this before, never really wanted to, but with Ray, he’d do anything. The prince fastened the belt more loosely than Bodie had expected, more as if he wanted to discourage Bodie from moving his hands than to stop him altogether. “There.” The prince was panting. “Now, you’re not in danger of suffocating while I’m away, are you?”

“Depends how long you’re gone!” The mattress had just enough give to allow Bodie’s neck some options, though none of these options was entirely comfortable.

“It does, doesn’t it?” and with a light slap to the side of Bodie’s buttock, the prince was off the bed and out of the room. However, it seemed he was only going to the bathroom, presumably to fetch some gel from his washbag, and he was back very shortly.

The left hand sliding under Bodie’s Y-fronts again, the finger slick and cool this time. Bodie groaned, and rocked his hips slightly from side to side, and the finger pressed ever deeper. Bodie felt the prince shifting position behind him, heard gasps which almost hid the slow sounds of skin on skin. Then, suddenly, the left side of Bodie’s Y-fronts was being pulled hard over to the right, and Bodie cried out at the fierce line of pressure across his balls. The finger was still inside him, so this must be Ray’s right hand clawed into his right buttock, pinning the fabric out of the way, giving Ray a clear path to his arse.

The finger twisted to one side, and then the other, and Bodie groaned and rocked, and welcomed the line of pressure, and the strain in his neck. The finger was barely out when Ray’s cock was there instead, bigger, much bigger, than Bodie had remembered, and so hot and distinct. This was what he’d been waiting for, those years at the castle, and God, he’d done the right thing.

It was strangely exciting, getting fucked like this with his Y-fronts still on, as if they were in some strict religion that wouldn’t let them be completely naked together. Like being betrothed. A new kind of betrothal, for a new kind of marriage. Was Ray thinking the same? Anything like the same? From the sound and feel, Ray was not in a state to think at all.

The prince didn’t last long, which wasn’t surprising, considering how long it had been since he’d last had wholehearted, guilt-free sex with someone he loved. Long moments of recovery when he lay heavy on Bodie’s bound arms, murmuring Bodie’s name against the damp neck. Then Bodie’s arse was empty and his Y-fronts were being smoothed into their proper place, and hands on his right hip and shoulder were urging him onto his back.

They looked at one another, intent, then down at Bodie’s livid, seeping cock. The prince wrapped one hand around it, the other around Bodie’s balls, and after that Bodie didn’t last long, either.

* * * * *

Bodie was still bound, but he hadn’t yet thought of complaining. They were lying together on their sides, the prince holding Bodie close with a hand around the back of his thigh.

“A kiss, sweet prince?”

The prince obliged, and it was a long, long kiss. However, at the end he obviously still remembered the beginning, saying, “Sweet? After that?” and finally he was reaching around and fumbling to loosen the belt.

Once free, Bodie held the prince close and rolled onto his back. “God, yes. Been waiting for that for years. You know I love it when you get like that.”

“I should have checked, though, when I - I could have hurt you.”

Bodie snorted his denial. “I’ll let you know if you even come close. What d’you reckon? Better than that first time with the leathers?”

“Oh.” A brief frown. “Don’t really like to compare. But, yeah, it _was_ sweet.” He grinned down at Bodie, and they kissed, and that too was sweet. “Next time, I think _I’ll_ wear the leathers.”

Bodie grimaced, and explained why he couldn’t.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Wanted to see what you’d do. I knew it’d be… interesting.”

* * * * *

They found the prince’s towels and had a bath, and then finished the rest of the unpacking in the bedroom and made the bed together. The dining table was delivered at about half past four, and they were nearly finished assembling it when the chairs and a bookcase arrived. It was a long time since lunch at Clover, and the prince immediately started preparing dinner while Bodie called up some music and then began unpacking books.

Over dinner, the prince was wondering if the bed and the remaining bookcases would be delivered early enough the next day to give them time to go into Dishna and choose a couch and maybe a coffee table and some furniture for the balcony. They had to go into Dishna at some point over the weekend, anyway, since the prince wanted to collect his car.

Bodie joined in the speculation about delivery times, but after a few exchanges it occurred to him that the whole discussion could well be unnecessary. “Look. Why don’t you go into Dishna on your own? I can wait here.”

“What about the couch? I think you should be there.”

“You chose the one in At Oba Nyon, didn’t you?” Bodie gestured in the general direction of their old flat. The prince nodded. “Then there’s no problem. I trust you. I don’t like shopping, anyway. Not that sort. You remember.”

“OK.” The prince nodded, then smiled broadly. “So we’ll have the car for all of An Uraba. That’s much better.”

“Where’re you thinking of going?”

“Dunno. But it’s still better. You’re going to miss having a car, aren’t you? That car.”

“That car, yeah. But that was Malun being Malun. And your bloody family putting Clover so you have to have a car. Maybe I’ll need one later, but right now I’m looking forward to getting the ferry with you in the mornings.”

“Me too. You coming in on At Mordez?”

“Might as well. I’ll need to sign up with the agencies again. Get an idea of what’s around.”

“Come over to the station when you’re finished. We’ll go out for lunch.”

* * * * *

When they’d finished the wine and had a coffee, they decided to go over to At Oba Nyon and see if Plassen was in. If he wasn’t, then they’d slip Ray’s note under the door.

Plassen was in, and he was astounded to see the two of them, so astounded that you couldn’t tell if he was pleased or appalled. Speechless, he walked backwards to let them in. The prince shut the door.

~We can go if you want. If this is a bad time.~

Plassen shook his head vigorously, gestured them towards the couch, then clattered around in the kitchen for a minute or so. When he came over to the couch himself, he was carrying a bottle of wine and three glasses. He put them on the table, sat in the armchair, stared at Bodie and the prince, then shook himself and leaned forward to pour the wine.

~Sorry. I’m sorry. But I - I thought…~ This time he was staring only at Bodie, and he didn’t snap himself out of it.

~What did you think?~ A gentle question from the prince.

~I - I thought Bodie was dead. I thought he died in /?/. In /?/ or /?/.~ Plassen was giving dates. Bodie recognised that much, but a proper translation would need too much concentration.

~No, we -~ The prince swallowed. ~We had to separate back then. Very suddenly. I’ve been living in Dishna. Bodie’s been in Monor. But we’re together again now. We’ve just moved into At Kamaran.~ The prince held out the note that gave the number of their flat, and Plassen took it and read it.

~But why -~ Again, he was staring at Bodie. ~No, I shouldn’t ask. Should I?~ He seemed to be talking to himself.

The prince shrugged. ~I would. I found out that Bodie is glarus. All of his people are.~ A start of reaction from Plassen, and now he seemed almost frightened to look at Bodie, though fascinated (or something). He turned his attention on the prince, but his eyes kept glancing to the side. ~I reacted very badly at first. No. For a very long time. Like a /?/. But Bodie’s /?/ to /?/ me. And here we are.~

~But you - _You’re_ …~

~I’m isidrol, yes. It’s an esmana marriage for me.~ At that, Plassen looked horrified. Bodie sighed, and the prince must have heard him, since he turned to smile in reassurance, and rested his hand briefly on Bodie’s knee.

~No need to look like that, Plassen. You’re perfectly safe from me. As far as we know. I’m not Gagras. I’m married to Ray as… strongly as I was the last time you saw me.~

~But you’re glarus.~ Plassen was shaking his head.

~All ‘humans’ are glarus. But we still manage to get married and have children and stay loyal to our husbands and wives.~ Sometimes. And maybe more often than not. What did Bodie know?

~That’s /?/ but why did you marry one of us? You _must_ have lied to Ray to make him think you were _isidrol_. ~

Bodie hit his head with the heel of his hand, then drew in a deep breath as he composed a scorching reply. But Ray had a reply ready first. ~Bodie thought _we_ were all _glarus_ too. His people had never met an isidrol species. When we discovered that we were different, it was as much of a shock for him as it was for me. ~

Plassen shrugged, looking sceptical but resigned. ~Well, I’m glad to see you both again. I’m glad you’re living here again. I was /?/ when I heard that Udom Kol and Embrun had been /?/. And your flat was /?/. I /?/.~ He’d cried, was he saying? Probably, from his expression, and from Ray’s solemn nod in response.

~Yes. But we want to /?/ now. We hope you can /?/ as if nothing had happened.~ The prince smiled suddenly. ~Except that Bodie’s qualified to pilot a flyer. And he’s been writing a book. And /?/ the gulshor tournaments in Monor.~

Plassen looked impressed and interested. Bodie tried to shrug it all off, but had to admit that Ray had chosen a good conversation-starter. The three of them finally started to drink the wine and relax.

* * * * *

“God!” Bodie had made straight for the bedroom, to collapse across the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Seconds later, the prince joined him. It was coming up to eight, and still fairly light despite the persistent clouds.

“I know.”

“Well, how was it? Better or worse?”

“Better _and_ worse. I’m sorry I put you through that. Maybe I should have gone over on my own.”

“No, we both have to get used to it. He got over it soon enough. Or was he putting it on? You know him better than I do.”

“He just needed a chance to see that you’re the same as before. That we both are. He’s probably sitting there now, wondering what he thought was so terrible about the idea of being married to a glarus.”

“Mmm. You going to handle it any differently at work?”

“Not in what I tell people, no. I’ll tell my boss first. And for people who need to know, I want to tell them in person. Make sure it’s my version they hear. My boss might suggest we call a meeting. Though that feels as if I want their opinion. And I don’t.”

“Well, knowing you, you’ll make that clear from the start.”

* * * * *

The prince got the ten o’clock ferry the next morning and by the time he returned just after three, the rest of the furniture had been delivered. Bodie had filled the bookcases, but had decided that they’d be better assembling the bed together—he’d done nothing beyond leaning the mattress up against the far wall to make space, and then taking the pieces through to the bedroom. With the two of them, the work didn’t take long, and they celebrated by remaking the bed with the special bedding. The finished bed looked important and inviting and very new, and Bodie, surveying it from the window, felt the last sliver of apprehension melt away.

The furniture that the prince had ordered should be delivered early in the next week. He’d chosen much the same styles as before, but had brought brochures in order to prove this to Bodie, and also a sample of the smoky, grey-brown material he’d chosen for the couch and armchairs. He’d also bought some pictures and plants and lamps, and the next hour was occupied in fetching these from the car and setting everything up in the flat. What with a gulshor match in the evening and miles and miles of walking on An Uraba, it was a pleasantly-tiring weekend, and just long enough to get them reset to local time.

They were among the first in the queue for the 7:36 the next morning, wanting to get their usual seat. They sat with their hands clasped and resting on their thighs. Ray’s viewer was open on the table, placed so they could both read it, but they took in nothing beyond the headlines. Bodie had the entire morning to deal with the agencies, so the prince didn’t drop him off. Once parked at the police station, they took the main entrance to the reception area, where Bodie would be presenting himself at lunchtime, and then parted with a quick kiss. Bodie watched until he lost sight of Ray among the pillars and shadows and the crowd, and then turned and made his way down into town.

He signed up with the same two agencies, in the same order. The staff seemed to have changed, but they still had his details from the last time, matched through his ID number. They’d taken him off their books when his bank account was closed and the fees stopped coming in. No one seemed annoyed—after all, they hadn’t lost money on him—but the raised eyebrows prompted from Bodie a few sentences about family problems, now behind him. They amended his details with his new skills and ambitions, and he asked for the listings to start from the beginning of the next week.

That left him more than an hour to kill before lunch, and he went to the library and scanned the vacancies on the local Employment board. A nice 9-to-5 job piloting a flyer would be perfect. Nothing today, but there was no harm in hoping. While he was here, should he start reading up about Dishna’s schools and colleges? Nah, leave it for now. Ray would want to be in on every minute of that.

Back in the reception area, he had a wait of about five minutes before Ray came down, looking happy, if jittery with too long on adrenaline. He leapt in with question after question about Bodie’s morning, and Bodie decided to wait for a while before asking his own questions. He didn’t think there was bad news to come—Ray just needed some time to regain his balance.

The prince had calmed a lot by the time their food arrived. He ate a couple of mouthfuls, then stopped suddenly, put his cutlery down, and stared across at Bodie. Bodie raised an eyebrow and carried on eating, though very slowly.

“You look - Wonderful. I bet they’re all sat there, replaying the security tapes over and over.”

“Who? Where? What tapes?”

“Ressa called across that my husband was waiting for me in reception. The whole room went quiet. Half of them were probably already down there by the time I got out of the lift, hiding behind the pillars. And I’ve seen it before, how well Ressa knows the security cameras.”

“You serious?”

The prince shrugged. He didn’t seem resentful—proud, if anything. “There were some of them definitely very curious. How far they’d go, I don’t know. But I would bet that someone will organise a meal for the department very soon. Partners invited, of course.”

“Are we going to go? What were they apart from curious?”

“Well… not really surprised, for one thing. I’d say a lot of them had already guessed. Talked it over. Though no one was going to admit that. Apart from that… Impressed. Relieved that it hadn’t happened to them.”

“Better or worse, then?”

“Oh, better.”

“You’re glad to be back at work, aren’t you? You’ve always got this extra bounce when you’re working.” Bodie wasn’t jealous. He liked that extra bounce.

“When I’m working and living with you. Remember? You wouldn’t have said that this time two months ago.”

Bodie nodded, conceding the point, and for a while he was the one gazing across, watching the other eating. Finally, cutlery taken up again and poised, he said what he’d been thinking. “I’m glad we came back here, Ray. We did the right thing, coming back home.”

 

THE END


End file.
